The Zombie Apocalypse: WWZ
by Miniflip999
Summary: "W-what... What the hell is going on!" A question everyone is asking. The apocalypse is here. A zombie outbreak has started in Norway and England. Zombies are taking over the countries. There is hope, but will they're efforts go in vain? Discontinued.
1. And So It Begins

**AN: Hi everyone! This is the first actual story I'm uploading on here! This is a short chapter. The main reason is because it's like a prologue.**

**I did not write this by myself. A bunch of friends and I wrote it together. So don't just review for me. Review for _all _of us.**

**First reviewer will get a special one-shot from me! I'm a very picky writer though, so I will pm you the characters I can write and what genre I can write. I'd like to make the gift good.**

**Please, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Let me check... Nope. My friends and I do not own Hetalia. But then we wouldn't be here then, would we.**

* * *

England stood on the edge of a large clearing in the middle of a dense forest. A black cloak hid his body and a hood shadowed most of his face. He wore a scowl and his eyes flashed with impatience.

"When is that git, Norway, going to show his face?" he muttered impatiently. He looked towards the center of the clearing. A large circle had been drawn onto the ground. It was cut into 5 sections, each section decorated with complex patterns. It had taken England a long time to make, and with the weather his country always had, it wouldn't last long.

"My apologies, Arthur" a calm voice started. It was at that moment that a figure cloaked in all black had emerged from the surrounding trees. The man in the robes slowly pulled down his hood, revealing himself to be none other than the Norwegian. He had been told to go to this exact location, but he couldn't exactly get from Scandinavia to Britain in two minutes. "But I'm sure you know that I can't exactly teleport here in an instant."

England bit back a retort. He wasn't about to start a fight with the Norwegian when they were working together. England turned his attention back to the circle, sighed, and pulled a small book out from under his cloak. "Do you think this is good enough?" the Englishman asked the Norwegian. "It was pretty hard to get it accurate. I'm not sure if it'll work."

"You tell me. This was your idea, after all." the Norwegian snapped, examining the circle with his monochromatic eyes. Okay, that wasn't completely true, as the two males had spent a considerable amount of time collaborating with each other. The reason why they wanted to do this was still unknown. Was it for the sake of seeing if they could pull it off, or something much more sinister? The Norwegian honestly had no clue. All he knew is that on that night, he and Arthur Kirkland were going to singlehandedly raise the dead.

Arthur opened the book to the page with a drawing of the intricate design. He glanced back and forth between the two circles. "It's as close as it will get..." England muttered and turned the page. "We should hurry. I'm not sure how long the weather will hold up," he said to the Norwegian. "Did you bring the candles and your book?"

"No, I left them in my bathtub." the Norwegian replied sarcastically, pulling out the aforementioned items from underneath his robe. Honestly. He and Arthur had been preparing for this moment for weeks. Months, even. He'd be more brainless than Denmark if he had managed to forget his materials after all of that...if that was possible. Little did the Norwegian realize just what he was getting himself into...

England took the candles and placed them in specific spots around the circle. He lit all the candles with a match. "I know this was my idea, but... Please remind me why we are doing this," Arthur said, looking a little perplexed. Playing with magic is not something one should do. Even his own intentions for doing this were somewhat unclear.

"I...I thought you knew." the Norwegian replied, his tone now slightly concerned. No. They were not doing this for no reason. This was not going to end well. At all. The Norwegian couldn't help but feel worried. There had to be a reason they wanted to do this...he just couldn't remember what it was for. Revenge? Domination? He just couldn't remember...

England frowned. He had been hoping the Norwegian would remind him of his own intentions. What had they been thinking of when they decided they should do this? He sighed and shook his head. "Oh well. I'm sure we had something important in mind when we made the decision." He looked at the words on the page of his book. They seemed so foreign, yet Arthur was familiar with them. He motioned with his hand to Norway that they should start the spell.

The Norwegian merely nodded in agreement before opening up his own spell book. This one had been relatively dusty, considering the fact that he had not touched it in what felt like ages. Then again, it wasn't every day that he was in need of a spell that could or could not raise the dead...the only reason he didn't know if it worked is because nobody had been curious - or stupid - enough before to try it. All he knew is that there was no turning back after this, and that he couldn't back out now.

England and Norway started chanting. "Ah-sa-win-ta-ra-ny-can-nak-ka-ra." The circle began to glow blue and green. The candles flickered and grew brighter. The spell was working, sending energy into the ground. Arthur's eyes were closed. He channeled his energy into the spell. When they finally stopped chanting, England opened his eyes. His emerald green eyes were glowing brightly, along with Norway's eyes. They watched in silence, waiting to see if the spell had worked.

The Norwegian's monochromatic blue eyes seemed to widen in shock as he watched the ground.

A hand, no. An arm.

England gasped in surprise. It had actually worked! But England began to worry. A pang of regret penetrated his feeling of success.

It worked, though. It actually worked.

"...No...No way..." the Nordic male gasped, feeling a severe amount of regret enter his system. He had just broken one of life's single most important rules. 'Once dead, a human can never come back to life.'

Whoops.

This was not going to end well.


	2. Breaking News!

**AN: Hello again! Thank you to those who reviewed last chapter! The gift for first reviewer goes to Rabidfangirl666. Congrats!**

**Please enjoy and review! And please critique us on our work. We love getting corrected, for it makes us better writers!**

* * *

_**"We interrupt the scheduled program for an emergency news announcement..."**_

America blinked. He fumbled for his remote in order to desperately turn up his volume. The only time when his country gave urgent news announcements were when things were bad. Like 'Russia-is-going-to-nuke-us' bad.

However, this was much worse. The large digital headline stood at the top of Alfred's wide screen. The white, capitalized letters popped out from the red banner. The CNN news anchor shuffled nervously through his words. It was obvious he was trying hard not to lose his professional demeanor.

_**"...it seems as if a 'zombie' infestation has started up within parts of England and Norway..."**_

He paused, obviously not liking his word choice. Alfred didn't like it either.

_**"Take a look at this live footage streaming from BBC World."**_

The small video screen resting in the corner of the newsroom expanded so that it covered America's television. The English woman on the other line looked tense.

_**"Hello. I'm here in London, England, where, apparently there have been numerous sightings of 'living corpses."**_

...What was she talking about? The news lady paused, looking as if she didn't know either.

_**"English officials are trying to get to the bottom of this myst-"**_

She jumped. So did Alfred. A scream cut through England's night sky. From what he saw, a group of policemen stood around a field of dead bodies. A few of them were wrapped up in body bags. The ones that weren't were blood soaked and chunks of meat loosely hung from their limbs; some had large hole were meat used to be.

But that wasn't the cause of the scream. One of the corpses stood up and chewed on the flesh of an unfortunate Englishman. Everyone in the group fumbled for their guns, and soon America's surround sound system filled the house with gunshots. Alfred's home phones and cellphone went haywire with calls, and his computer beeped loudly, indicating that he was receiving hundreds of new IMs and e-mails.

However, he ignored these calls. One policeman yelled for the news lady and the camera man to get away. But as the BBC World crew retreated, the faithful camera man kept his lens on the action.

The camera was shaky, but he saw more and more of the dead bodies rising to their feet. America saw one policeman off to the corner of the screen. A mob of those monsters ripped the poor guy limb from limb and helped themselves to his body. It was blurry, but the look on that guy's face was inscribed into America's mind.

That was enough. Alfred bent over, pressing a palm against his lips. He wasn't sure if he was going to vomit or not, but he brought his watery eyes back upon the screen. It seemed as if the broadcasters were debating whether to cancel the footage or not, because the camera flickered on and off constantly. Alfred's phones were still going at it, same with his computer. He gasped.

The television now showed footage of the reaction of the American people. From the large television at Times Square, all the way to a group of people in Alaska, the scenes were narrated by the CNN news anchor who introduced the broadcast.

_**"Oh... O-Oh my god... what the hell is going on...?"**_

Everyone was silent. Now a murmur of voices whispered through the crowd. Now an uproar. People everywhere were panicking including Alfred F. Jones.

* * *

Norway couldn't believe this

He did this.

He was completely responsible for this.

Despite the fact that Arthur had a helping hand in this, the Norwegian male couldn't help but panic. Then again, he had raised the dead, something that was strictly forbidden. Because of this, his once beautiful nation was now a blood-soaked wasteland filled to the brim with high octane nightmare fuel. He hated himself. He hated it all. Nothing he had ever done before could even compare to how badly he had fucked up this time. He was losing it. The usually calm and collected Norwegian was losing it. He knew it was only a matter of time before the zombies reached the rest of Scandinavia...and worse, his younger brother's land. He knew it was going to happen eventually. This kind of thing was what happened when you fucked with death.

Why?

Why did he go through with this? Why didn't Arthur try to talk him out of this? Why did he go along with it? These questions tormented the Norwegian more than the fact that his population was almost completely made up of corpses now did. He would give anything to take it back; anything. Sadly, however, he knew that was not possible.\

* * *

England slammed a book shut on his desk. "DAMMIT!" He had been watching the news. The news didn't need to tell him that he had done something stupid, though. He should have known something like this would happen. Now his whole country was being attacked by those damned zombies. And it was all his own fault. "Damn..." He buried his head in his hands, unsure of what to felt terrible. He was responsible for this. Though Norway had helped, he had been the one to come up with the idea, and had even talked Norway into helping him.

Why?

Why had he let the Norwegian help? Why did he allow Norway to have some of the fault? Why didn't he just leave the Norwegian out of this? If he had, Norway probably wouldn't receive any blame. If he could, England would gladly take all the blame. He was the one who set it all up, after all. It was his fault for screwing around with magic. He should have known better. He had plenty of experience, while Norway hardly had any at all.

Arthur wished he could take it all back. But sadly, it was too late for that.


	3. Now We All Know

**AN: Ah! Hello again! Well, 3rd chapter people! This is where we have more of the characters come in! Thank you to the people who have reviewed! Aha~ We are going to have some major angst coming up in a few chapters. So prepare yourselves!**

**In this chapter, you can really tell the difference between most of our writing styles.**

**We also introduce quite a number of OCs. Be on the lookout for unfamiliar characters! Those will be our lovely OCs.**

**Anyway, on with the chapter!**

* * *

America walked briskly down the polished walls of the White House. He was cladded in a suit and tie (of course. What else would he wear when he meets up with his boss?). His people were calmed, but scared for their lives. His government officials around him were in a state of panic while organizing the United States' actions. He had just been dismissed from an emergency meeting, concerning none other than the Zombie crisis taking place and Norway and England... or perhaps what his boss addressed it: WWZ.

"Secure all the borders. Nobody in, nobody out, you hear? _No one_. Let the planes coming in come in, but absolutely no one else. Send troops over to the islands and make sure everybody is secured there as well. A zombie landing on an island will kill everyone. Call the government officials down in Latin America as well and make sure they don't let anyone in as well. Send out the naval fleets and have them inspect every ship coming for the US. Update me on every second of this."

On that note, he hung up from his phone call. The epidemic was still confined to Norway and England. Right now, all Alfred had to worry about is making sure those damn zombies didn't get into the Western Hemisphere. The Queen and her officials in England were flying over to America at this very moment, and the officials in Norway had decided to take refuge somewhere else. However, his boss refused to take in any other Englishman. Alfred knew that Arthur's citizens were not happy about this, but America could only hold so many people. And the risk of having the disease spread over his home was too much.

However, after a long talk with his boss, he would go over to Europe with his troops in order to fight off the threat with Arthur and his own.

* * *

Arthur stood on the outskirts of London. Luckily, the zombie infestation was only in London. The army had quarantined London. No one was allowed to go in or out. And luckily, no one had. So the zombies were only in London. The ports were safe, and people were evacuating at the moment by sea. How long would it be until the zombies got through?

* * *

Denmark was until quite recently taking a nice nap until, of course, the sound of the mail slot sounded the time to get the mail and daily news. Mind you the paper came around about 8 hours ago, but let's leaves that out for a bit shall we? Anyways, upon picking it up, the headline on the front page said it all.

"Norge, you're an idiot"

So was England, but he didn't give much of a damn about him at the moment. There was the problem of Faroe. So that was the reason he hadn't see him around for days; zombies.

* * *

Romano was preparing some dinner to himself when he listened to some news. At first he didn't pay attention, but then he heard something unusual: Zombies. "You must be fucking lying!" he screamed even though he was alone. He decided to phone Spain before taking any real actions.

Romano didn't get a reply on the phone so he guessed he should call the infected countries. He listened to the news again to see where that started. "Inghilterra e Norvegia," he heard someone on the TV say. He called both countries but got no reply. "Bastardi!" he said more to himself.

It took no more than one minute for him to realize that maybe this was real and he should do something about it. He called his boss. "I don't care what my stupid brother says, but we're closing borders to everyone!"

Lovino tried to call Norway again to rectify if the information was true, even when he already decided to take action. He needed to know what the hell was really going on and if it could be somehow stopped.

* * *

Meanwhile, in Iceland, a certain white haired pretty boy had just received news about the infestations. Zombies? Needless to say, he was skeptical about it...well, he was until he found out exactly where the infestation was. Norway. He couldn't believe it. It was all too strange.

This...this couldn't be happening.

* * *

Sealand frowned, turning the nobs on his little radio to get a station with a half-decent signal. When he did, however, he found it to be airing a news report.

"Hey!" He tapped the contraction in annoyance. "This station usually plays music..." Nevertheless, he listened to it. (Real nations paid attention to their current events, right?)

Through little bouts of static, he made out 'zombies', 'spreading', and 'certain doom'.

Oh, dear. Swallowing hard, even though his mouth felt a little dry, he listened more intently to the broadcast. Something about zombies from England and Norway? "It figures Jerk England would have something to do with this." He huffed. Any who, little Sealand did what he did best; ran off to his Mama and Papa, tail between his legs. Not that he was scared; he just needed to check on how his parents were doing amidst this crazy mess.

* * *

"_**Breaking news! There's a zombie outbreak in Norway and England and its slowly spreading."**_

The TV screen lit up with flashing colors as the news reporters started talking about the said "Zombie Invasion."

"_**This could kill millions of people, even the whole world!"**_

"Hahaha. If that did happen, then the whole world would be mine!" Russia chuckled. He stood up as the phone started ringing. A bunch of people were calling him, worried about the news they just heard. Ivan made a few more phone calls before remembering about Antarctica. She was a small little continent, (not really, she has the second largest land mass, the first being Russia of course) with no military personnel at all.

"What will happen if she gets attacked by zombies, da? Then if I take over her land as my own, I'll just have another place just like my home is now." He heard footsteps walking down the hall.

Peeking down the hallway, he saw little Latvia. "Hey, Latvia, I command you to close all my borders while I go do some business. Have the other Baltics help you." After that, he walked out of the house and got on the next plane to Antarctica.

Flying across the Indian Ocean, Ivan could see some white just over the horizon. It was Antarctica's home. The plane soon landed and Russia stepped off the plane. It was snowing lightly and there was a slight breeze. Looking around, Ivan spotted some movement. He walked over and saw Antarctica attempting to start a fire.

"Hey, Antarctica, I have some news to tell you," the Russian said, standing over the Antarctic girl.

It was snowing, but not the type of snow that her home usually got. It was just a light, soft snow; the nicest weather that Antarctica ever got. Antarctica was sitting in the snow with some sticks, attempting to start a fire, but failing.

Alyssa heard a voice come from behind. As she turned around she saw her Russian brother standing above her. "Oh, hi Russia. So what do you have to tell me?" she asked as she stood up.

"Well, there's a Zombie Invasion up in England and Norway. The only reason why I'm telling you this is because I don't want to end up with two homes that are the same," the Russian said, wearing his fake smile.

Really…. All Russia cared about was taking over the world…. Again. He didn't even care that one of his little sisters might die. Right before Antarctica could say something, Russia started to walk away. "Wait, Russia!" Alyssa said, chasing after her brother. "Is that really all you care about? Having another home just like the one you have now? You really are heartless, aren't you?"

By the time the words came out of the Antarctic's mouth, Russia had gotten on the plane and it took off, leaving the poor defenseless continent by herself as the snow picked up, turning everything white.

Antarctica was left by herself yet again in the middle of a snow storm. With everything covered in darkness, she slowly made her way to her house (which some very kind researchers had built her). Looking around, she could barely make out the figures of the researchers scurrying to their buildings to shelter themselves from the blizzard.

She felt something brush up against her leg. Looking down, she could just barely make out what it was. It was her artic fox, Ice.

She had sent him off to find more wood for the fire that epically failed and never started, and he returned with a few twigs in his mouth.

"Come on Ice. We should get home'' Alyssa said, picking up her fox.

When she entered her home, the sudden blast of warm air welcomed her. She had started a separate fire in her home to keep it warm while she was gone, and luckily, it stayed lit. She took the twigs out of Ice's mouth and put them in the fire to keep it alive.

Sitting down on her bed, Alyssa started thinking about what Russia had said. "He really doesn't care about anyone but himself, does he?" she started saying to the little fox that was now sitting on her lap. "I would have followed him on the plane but I haven't left my home in such a long time… it just wouldn't feel right. Plus, if there really are zombies up north, then I could be killed." Tears started forming in her eyes as she talked. "But, what if everyone dies and I'm the only one left? Does that mean that I would control the whole world and the people that survived the invasion?"

* * *

Faroe was sitting in the living room of his house, hugging his Pied Raven plushy. He was bored and lonely along with being scared. His brother told him not to leave home or watch TV. Nicholas was wondering what was wrong. He was now calling Denmark, wondering if he would come over since Norway wouldn't come over. Faroe looked at the clock while he waited.

* * *

Mexico was barely over the border to see if America was okay. He was hiding for a bit, panting. The Mexican was sure he hadn't run this much before. It looked like the security was put on full alert due to the zombie crisis. He was sure his home, along with his siblings, was fine. Santiago wanted to talk to Alfred, but his boss wasn't going to let that happen. So he snuck away. Mexico was sure Puerto Rico would be disappointed with him. Once everything was clear, he took off running again, finally making it to the American's house after dodging more security. He actually knocked on the door, too tired at the moment to break in.

* * *

America pulled his favorite brown leather military jacket over his torso, stomping around his house in a rush to get to his plane.

Alfred had received numerous text messages and e-mails on his phone, updating him on the current zombie infestation. It seemed as if Arthur was holding his own down in London. His citizens were dispersed among numerous other towns dotting the United Kingdoms. The Queen had safely arrived in the USA just a few hours prior. The situation was not as controlled in Norway. The Norwegian soldiers were struggling to subdue the zombies, and as a result, more than half the country was in turmoil. Norway had quite a number of reinforcements from other countries helping him, including America, but the situation didn't show any signs of letting up anytime soon.

He ran out the door, his keys jingling as he ran. Little did he know that a certain border hopping Mexican stood on his porch. The two collided into each other.

"Oof! - Agh, sorry." America blinked a few times before realizing who it was. "...Mexico? What are you doing here?" He jumped to his feet and helped the other country up.

He was wasting too much time. Before Santiago had a chance to say anything, Alfred prompted the other about his intentions.

"Hey, I don't have time to chase you out of my house, you know. I need to get to Europe, now."

Mexico was startled when America suddenly collided into him. He stumbled a bit once he was helped up. The Mexican heard what the blonde said and grabbed hold of his arm. "L-Let me help you!" He looked up at the American. Santiago wasn't going to let this be all for nothing. "Hey, I didn't just run all the way here past all that security just to visit..."

"W-What-"

America's eyes stared at Santiago upon his sudden demand, blinking with surprise. Naturally, Alfred would have refused and shoved Mexico aside... however, with this zombie thing going on, everybody needed as much help as they could get. The determined look on Mexico's face played a significant factor in America's decision.

**/"Hey I didn't just run all the way here past all that security just to visit..."/ **

Santiago's grip lightened just the slightest, and his gaze decreased in intensity. America was silent for a few moments.

"...But you do that all the time."

Finally, he sent Mexico a small smile and a chuckle from under his breath.

"Do you really want to? I mean..." America adverted his gaze for a split second, recalling the gruesome news broadcast that morning. "...This zombie thing is really... really horrible. Are you sure you want to go over there? Does your boss know?"

Mexico got irritated hearing the first thing America said. He needed to stay calm. The Mexican got nervous when his boss was mentioned. "Of course no one wants me to have anything to do with you but, I want to help..." He didn't care what everyone told him. Santiago wasn't going to just stay home and do nothing about this. He was willing to fight. "I really want to help..."

America considered Mexico's offer. He adjusted Texas before he addressed his neighbor.

"I don't see why not. Helping it good, si?"

He smiled at his friend. America draped an arm around Mexico's shoulders and guided him to the car located within his open garage.

"Just don't try and upstage me, okay? Remember; I'm the hero! Haha!"

Alfred jumped inside of his car, shoving the keys into the ignition. His enthusiasm was fleeting, for he was quickly overwhelmed by the incredible pressure of this zombie infestation. This could possibly be the end of the world. He frowned. He liked the world as it was now. Sure, it wasn't at its Renaissance... but it was still beautiful.

A weak smile grazed America's lips when Santiago took over the passenger seat.

"You know, we probably won't be back home for a while..." He let out a breath. "Once I get the plane started, we can't come back."

Mexico blushed slightly when America put an arm around him. He was relieved that the blonde was letting him. The Mexican laughed after he heard what the other said. He watched the American get the car ready before getting in. Santiago noticed the weak smile on Alfred's face. He got quiet and stared at the window. Mexico knew America was giving him a chance to go back home. He already told his siblings he was going to help America. The only one he didn't tell was Puerto Rico. Santiago clenched his fists as he fought back tears. "I-I know...but, I really do want to help. It won't do anything for my brothers and sisters or anyone else if I just stay home...we need as much as help as we can get." He looked at Alfred.

America leaned against the headrest, frowning. His fingers twitched slightly before he pulled them into a loose fist. He said nothing.

Alfred started up the car and backed out of his precious home. America took in the sight for as long as he could, because the bushes would become overgrown, there would be hidden spider-webs that America would have to remove, and dust would accumulate in the most particular places.

He imagined what it would be like in Norway. When he arrived, Norway would be standing beside the Norwegian commander who would say with his thick accent, "Go home, Mr. Jones. We've exterminated the threat." America would pout and jokingly complain about how he took the time to waste his gas to go there and not kick any zombie butt. The people would laugh and he'd go home and drop Mexico back at his place.

At least... that's what he prayed would happen. But he knew better.

* * *

**Yea... Probably could have been better, but I'm not the only one writing. Anyway, please review!**

**~Miniflip999**


	4. Totally Not Awesome

**AN: Well, since I had the chapter all ready, and I felt nice, I decided to put this up! Thank you to those who have reviewed! Please pardon our OOC Austria and Prussia. We felt OOC-ness was necessary for some apparent reason. **

**And please meet our other OC, Mexico! Like I said, we will have quite the number of OCs.**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

Just as Denmark was settled down after rummaging around, answering scared citizens phone calls, ex-cetera, only to get some peace and quiet, the phone rang again. What was it this time?

"Hello, I know about the zombie outbreak. Keep supplies well stocked in the house and go get something that can smash a skull."

Obviously a phrase he'd been using quite often until he finally heard who was on the other end.

"Oh, Faroe. Hai."

* * *

Faroe got a little pale hearing what Denmark said first. He let out a nervous laugh. "That's a weird prank, storebror..." Nicholas was sure that wasn't the reason Norway wanted him to stay home. It couldn't be real. Wouldn't his brother tell him? "Umm c-can you come over? Bror won't let me leave my home or watch TV for some reason..." Faroe hugged his Pied Raven plush with his free arm. Fear could be heard in his voice. He was alone in his house after all.

So Faroe took the earlier bit as a prank. Great, but he was still scared, which didn't help the Dane on the other end, especially when he heard Norge kept him in the dark about it; and for good reason. But still, leaving him all alone was just rude.

"Of course I'll come over Faroe."

Faroe sighed in relief. "Takk, storebror~! See you when you get here~!" He hung up the phone after saying bye. Nicholas suddenly got the urge to call Norway. He didn't know why; something was just screaming at him to. The boy tried to call his brother but frowned. The line was apparently busy, but he was able to at least leave a message. Faore hesitated before leaving a message for the Norwegian. "I-Its Faroe, bror. I-I was just wondering if you were going to come over later..." He got another urge. "I love you, bror, I really do...a lot~! So call back when you can~!" Nicholas hung up the phone and sat on the couch, hugging his Pied Raven plushy. He couldn't help but get the feeling that it was as if his brother was going to disappear. Faroe tried to ignore the feeling as he waited for Denmark.

* * *

Austria pulled out his torte from the oven, feeling satisfied with the turnout of the lovely aroma wafting from the delicacy. Preparing the table properly with silverware, he placed his torte down then walked over to the radio. It wouldn't hurt to listen a little while he ate, would it? Besides, he needed to keep up with his country's news. Turning to his favorite news channel, he sat down, but paused as he heard a rather odd report...

_**"Word has just come in about a strange event... Zombies seem to be invading multiple countries around the world... There seems to be more of them every minute... We're all going to die... We're doomed..."**_

Austria grabbed his coat and rushed out the door, his torte abandoned at the kitchen table. This was not good. Zombies invading the world? It sounded like one of those stupid horror movies America always came up with. Except this was real. He went along as fast as he could, and arrived at a certain albino's house. Without bothering to knock (why should he? Prussia never did when he came over), he barged into the house and headed towards the TV room, where Prussia was most likely to be.

'I'm sitting on the couch. It's fun, and you don't have to do anything. Though it sucks when you need a drink or something, and no one is there to get it for you...' Prussia thought, eating another potato chip, then chugging the last of his beer. He really had no idea what he was watching, all he knew was that it had a gay sponge talking to another gay starfish, when suddenly, the world's gayest man burst through his door. "Oi! Knock first-"

"Oi! Gilbert! We have a zombie invasion problem here!"

"Wait, wha-"

"Get off your lazy ass and do something about it, because I sure as hell am not going to handle this by myself!"

"Wait... Hold on. Zombie invasion...? Dude, stay off of the drugs, and while you're standing here, get me a beer, would ya?" Yeah. He didn't believe it.

"No, I will not get you a fucking beer," Austria yelled, raising his voice so it would be heard in the TV room, which he was still walking towards. "This is serious, and if you're going to sit there watching crappy cartoons and shit while zombies bite your head off, I'm not going to feel sorry for you." He entered the room and pushed Prussia off the couch, then took the remote and turned off the TV.

Prussia was beginning to get really irritated. Not only was he denied a beer, but his cartoons were cut off as well. "Dude, why the hell are you so... moody? I'm not gonna believe you until I hear it from the news..." Prussia said, grabbing the remote and turning the TV back on, flipping to the news.

_**"An invasion of what appears to be... zombies has begun in parts of Europe. Officials have been notified, and there are many people being evacuated. The army and anyone who can help have been called in to attempt to fight these creatures off!"**_

... Well, shit. It's true.

Prussia stared at Austria. "This is totally not awesome, dude."

* * *

Norway was scared. He had no idea what he could do. He had closed off his borders long ago in a feeble attempt to try to keep Sweden from being invaded right away, but knew that that plan wouldn't help at all. All the Norwegian could do was wait. All the Norwegian was thankful for is that nobody had called to complain to him yet...probably because every other country was completely terrified.

_Riiiiiing._

_Riiiiiing._

Norway tensed up as he heard his phone's ringer go off, indicating that somebody had finally decided to call him. He knew he needed to answer the phone at all costs, but he hesitated. The Norwegian honestly didn't want to deal with anybody at the moment, considering the situation he was in. But...he knew he had to. The Nordic reached for the phone on the wall, deciding to check the caller ID before picking up the call. "...Southern...Italy?" If somebody like him, who lived on the other end of Europe, had decided to call him, he knew he needed to answer. "...H...Hello?"

* * *

Romano needed to wait a bit until the other nation answered. "Ciao Norvegia," he said showing a little bit how upset he was from everything that was going on. "Is that shit true? What the hell happened?" He was clearly showing his well-known hot-temper, but in the inside he was worried about his people and about everything that could happen. This was absolutely not normal.

The Norwegian sighed. He could tell that the Italian male was hiding his fear behind a furious mask. Nevertheless, Norway tried to regain his usual composure before replying to Romano. "Yes...it is true." the Scandinavian replied, biting his lip. "It...It is all my fault. But please, try not to worry so much. It should probably take a while before the infection reaches your area." Little did Norway know how untrue that was…

At first, Romano stayed quiet. He was shocked. He hoped that the closing of his borders would have been an unnecessary action and that he could just apologize and open them again, but he couldn't. "Che cosa? And what do you mean by probably? How the hell will we stop this!"

"I...I don't know." the Norwegian replied, his voice beginning to crack. The Norwegian had never been as guilty as he was now; even when he decided to finally ditch Denmark and leave his little brothers behind. This was all his fault. Nobody else's...except for England's, for not talking him out of it. He was terrified, almost to the point where he could break down and cry any second now. That alone could tell anybody that even knew the Scandinavian the slightest bit that the end was near. "T...To be honest...I...I don't think we can stop them."

"Listen, Romano, I'd love to stay and chat, but I really must be going," the Norwegian lied before rudely hanging up on the Southern Italian. He knew that he'd be bitched at later for it, but frankly, he didn't care at the moment. At this point, even the noise of a mouse moving across the floorboards was enough to make the Norwegian lose control of his bladder out of fear. 'Dammit, Norway. Get it together,' he mentally scolded, knowing fully well that this wouldn't help at all. What if something happened to the other Nordics? To Iceland? What if this spread out of Northern Europe and into places like Russia, or god forbid, America? The Scandinavian man couldn't bring himself to think of the possible outcomes from all of this; all he knew is that he and England has possibly brought upon the end of the world.

It was almost...funny. Considering that Norway seemed like somewhat of a harmless country in comparison to some of the world's superpowers, like America or Russia. Even France seemed more dangerous than him...but for different reasons. The Nordic then slid the normally well placed Nordic cross out of his hair, causing it to fall into his eyes. He clutched the clip desperately while making one final prayer...but even that seemed more hopeless than usual. There was no hope for the Norwegian, at all.

* * *

A few phone calls, a plane ride, and a taxi ride later, Denmark was at Faroe's door and pounding on it since, for once, it was actually locked and he figured it wasn't a very good idea to just break it down in the current situation that was mentioned on the news. While waiting he gazed around and saw Faroe, in fact, had kept himself cooped up in his house for days on end, due to the never picked up newspapers right under his feet.

Faroe had been asleep while waiting for Denmark to arrive. He was startled awake when he heard banging on the door. Nicholas quickly got up and opened it. "Hallo, storebror~!" He smiled up at the Dane before letting him inside.

Faroe blushed a little when he was suddenly hugged and giggled. Nicholas hugged the Dane. He ignored the fact that the blonde would still call him squirt.

"So, what you want to do?" the Dane asked him, giving Faroe a soft smile, still keeping him in the hold while he easily kicked the door shut.

Faroe looked up at Denmark, still blushing a bit. He thought about what they could do. Maybe a few board games that he had; he also had some video games. Nicholas sort of wanted to play in the snow, but had promised Norway he wouldn't go outside. "Well we can eat first if you're hungry..." He eyed the Pied Raven plushy that was on the floor now.

Denmark thought a bit at what Faroe said. Truth be told he wasn't starving, but he wasn't not hungry either. Plane food was nasty, so he refused it flat out, except for the free peanuts.

"Well, what do you have with you that is edible?"

Faroe thought about what he had. He had some stuff. "I have the usual. Do you want to make something? I can't think of anything." Nicholas did know how to make a few things, he just wasn't sure what to make. Faroe also actually liked Denmark's food sometimes.

"How 'bout the fish and chips you used to make when you lived with me? Those were good," he belted without much thought to it. "If you have any or want to make it, that is."

Faroe smiled and nodded. "Okay~! But you have to let go first..." He blushed a little. Nicholas squirmed a bit in Denmark's grip. He didn't mind the hugging, but he had to be let go if the Dane wanted him to make them something.

"Of course," he mumbled, letting go of the younger, obviously hiding the fact that he had something he'd been hiding from everyone for a long time, but still managing to mask it with a cheap grin.

Faroe went into the kitchen and started making the fish and chips. He had his Pied Raven plushy sitting on his hat the whole time. It made it look like the little stuffed bird was watching the boy cook. Nicholas soon finished and brought Denmark's plate to him. "Ta da~!

* * *

Arthur nearly passed out when he saw what was in front of him.

Bodies.

Bodies everywhere. Standing up with dull eyes and missing chunks of flesh, all in outskirts of London. They had gotten through without anyone noticing. No... They had already been infected, but it hadn't taken affect until now.

England gritted his teeth. "Secure the outskirts as well! Don't let anyone out unless it is confirmed they have not been infected!" he ordered the British troops. He inwardly cursed himself. He had been stupid, and now the whole world was in danger.

* * *

America departed from his parked plane. He paused after shutting the door, waiting a bit for Mexico to get caught up.

The duo landed out in a clearing that was property to one of Norway's military bases. Everyone was rushing to fight off the zombie infestation. Platoons from Netherlands, Sweden, Denmark, Iceland, America, and many other countries marched about. Their commanders' eyes were hard and serious, preparing their troops and themselves for what lay ahead.

A Norwegian commander beckoned America over, but gave a weary glance at Mexico. America's boss had called much earlier, informing the commander that Mr. Alfred F. Jones would be arriving. However, Alfred didn't suspect the same for Santiago.

The two exchanged salutes. Afterwards, America flipped open his badge, allowing the European commander to confirm that he was the right person. Returning the item back into his pocket, he answered the commander's suspicious gaze for Mexico.

"This is Santiago..." He paused, not quite remembering Mexico's full name. "...Santiago Ramirez. He's the representative of Mexico. I hope you don't mind that I brought him here as well, but it seems like you guys need all the help you can get."

The Norwegian commander grunted in response, following with a nod. "Very well..." His English was heavily accented. "Please follow me, Mr. Jones, Mr. Ramirez."

America smiled at his small success. The duo followed as the commander briskly walked through the dull gray walls that buzzed with officials yelling into their ear pieces and soldiers running about. The commander briefed both Mexico and America about the current situation. From what he heard, Norway didn't seem like it was in the best shape right now. The Norwegian commander shoved open the door to a room that held an assortment of weapons.

"Please, choose to your liking. You two will be traveling by yourselves, I hope you do not mind. There are soldiers all over the country, so you should not have trouble finding help. I'm asking that you please... search for Norway," he was talking about the Norway, of course, "and protect him at all costs. Perhaps take him to America, if you could. Anywhere that is safe." He paused. His mouth gaped open slightly, trying to find the right words. He blinked, and the frown lines of his face deepened. He left the two with one last piece of advice. "Be careful... It is absolute hell out there."

Mexico followed America. He found it hard to keep eye contact every time he got suspicious glances. The Mexican was relieved when America told someone he was here to help. He felt uncomfortable when they arrived to what seemed like an armory. Santiago listened to what the man said before he left. He looked over at Alfred while looking at the weapons. "Can't remember the last time I used a gun..." Mexico hated how this was bringing memories back.

"Well you better learn quickly." He handed a rifle to Mexico.

"I have to go see Spain later..." Mexico muttered.

Alfred nodded. He would have to check up on all of the countries later. However, the situation in Norway could leave the two stranded here for weeks, maybe even months.

* * *

**Okay. You have to admit, this chapter was pretty funny. I mean come on. Prussia. And of course, the lovely bit with the bodies right after Faroe finishes cooking. :P**

**Please review! And thank you to the people who have reviewed so far!**


	5. Breakdown

**AN: Ahaha~ Newest chapter! Thank you to all who have reviewed! I'm glad you all enjoy it! And I'm glad my fellow writers are using this to catch up or just plain re-read it all! :D**

**And now... Time for the disclaimer! We shouldn't need one in each chapter, so I'm putting one every five chapters!**

**Disclaimer: Let me go ask... *comes back* Nope. We don't own Hetalia or its characters, just the OCs.**

* * *

Arthur was in one of the port cities. He had been right to send the citizens here. It was safe for now. His phone was open and he was calling Norway, to see how he was handling the situation. England hoped it wasn't too bad for him. England himself had managed to confine the zombies to London and its outskirts, but who knew how long that would last.

The phone kept ringing. "Come on, Norway. Pick up the phone, you git."

* * *

_Riiiiing~_

_Riiiiing~_

Oh, not again.

The Norwegian nearly pissed his pants upon hearing the phone ring for the second time in the past five minutes. Had Romano realized he had hung up and called him back to yell at him? Or was it somebody else planning on doing the same thing? The Nordic male just sighed before approaching the phone once again, and upon seeing that it was England, picked it up. He took a deep breath to recompose himself before placing it to his ear. "Hello, Arthur..."

* * *

Arthur sighed with relief. Norway sounded worried, probably terrified. But it was a good sign that he picked up his phone.

"How are you holding up? Has help arrived from the other countries? If not, I strongly suggest you get out of there and don't let anyone else in. We can't risk having the other countries getting infected."

England would have gladly taken help, and he knew Norway would too. But they just couldn't risk it. It wouldn't be long before the zombies got out of London and made their way to Scotland. Scotland, after all, shared a border with England, and he hoped that Scotland had been sensible enough to evacuate his people and leave his house.

"I've already made sure my borders have been closed," the Norwegian replied, failing to keep up his usual composure. Now wasn't the time to be worrying about how he sounded, though. ...Wait. Help? From other countries? Norway bit his lip once more, completely unaware of the fact that America and Mexico had ventured all the way to Europe for his sake. "W...Wait...What do...what do you mean...by help?" the Norseman replied, feeling rather weak in the knees due to sheer terror. It was then that he realized that he was _absolutely alone_. A mental breakdown was inevitable. "Arthur...I'm...I'm scared...I know that I'm not going to make it through this alive! Why! Why did we have to go through with this! It's all our fault!" he yelled, completely losing it. So much for a calm and cool composure in any situation. "I...I don't want to die..."

Arthur took note of how the Norwegian sounded. He cursed himself for what seemed like the thousandth time that day, for talking Norway into doing this.

England tried to keep calm, while in reality, he knew there was no hope for Norway. And soon, he would be gone too. It was only a matter of time until the zombies broke through the defenses and spread through the rest of the country. As long as the zombies didn't get across the sea, the other countries other than Scotland should be safe, though the zombies in Norway would most likely reach the other Scandinavians.

"There's really nothing I can say, Norway. Try to get through this. I have to go. I need to call America..." Arthur hung up the phone with a pang of regret. He couldn't do anything to help the Norwegian country. No one could. It was just too late.

The sound of a dial tone rang out through Norway's home, indicating that Arthur had hung up on him. Even he knew that the Norwegian was going to die, and that nobody could do anything about it. His population was almost completely zombified at this point, and he'd either be slaughtered, then most likely eaten by them...or suffer a much more horrid fate. The Norwegian tried not to think about such a grotesque fate, but he couldn't help it. He knew it was going to happen any day now. "...Why...Why did I even do this...I'm...I'm so sorry..." Norway stated quietly, letting the tears run down his face.

* * *

England spent another 2 minutes staring at his phone. He had hung up on Norway, and hadn't helped him at all. Arthur felt horrible. It was his fault. Norway was going to die because of him. The whole world might die because of him.

England leaned against the wall of a building and pressed a button on his phone, dialing America's number. He put the cell phone to his ear and laid his head against the wall, sighing. If anything, he'd prevent America from coming and getting infected.

The thought made him shudder. America getting infected. Yes, England wanted to avoid that at all costs. Hell, he even wanted to make sure France avoided getting infected as well. He'd be glad if even Russia didn't get infected.

Arthur listened as the phone kept ringing, hoping America would pick up.

* * *

America and Mexico were seated in the back of a military car. Alfred gripped the shotgun that lay across his chest. He stared blankly out upon the destruction of the Norwegian populous. There were dead people everywhere. A few zombies were wandering around or having their share of human flesh.

Once, he saw a lady calling out to them. A baby was slung around her neck. Blood squirted out from every place possible and her eyes were sunken in. She was determined enough to cling onto the side of the car and yell in her native tongue. Pure terror and desperation was heard in her screams. To make it worse, her face hung right beside Alfred's window. He was scared shitless, and that was an understatement. The soldier in the passenger seat replied to the woman, and it didn't sound very nice. His hypothesis was proven right when the soldier knocked the woman off with the blunt end of his gun. America was absolutely devastated. Why... Why didn't they help her?

The soldier seemed to have seen the look on the American's face, because he said in his thick accent, "That woman was infected." He motioned around his neck area. "The wound on her neck. Did not you see it? She was bitten." America nodded weakly. Once having confirmed his actions, the soldier returned to his original position.

Mexico had a tight grip on the rifle he had along with the seat. He felt pathetic about it but who wasn't scared of this? The Mexican was hoping, praying that his siblings were okay. He kept his eyes down, not daring to peek outside. Santiago only looked up when he heard the lady. He flinched when she was hit and quickly looked away. Mexico was as upset as America was. He was shaking slightly from fear. The Mexican noticed the other glance at him. 'Calm down. Your fine...for now...' Not even his thoughts were helpful.

So far, the zombies were only in Norway... and already their entire society had crumbled into nothing but rotten flesh. If this held true, would the world follow Norway's example? He glanced at Mexico before gluing his eyes onto the blood marks that the woman left.

_Bbbzzzzz... Bbbzzzz..._

America reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone. Was it another update? No, it was just England. But that was fine, because Alfred was meaning to call him to ask how he was holding up.

"Hello? Arthur?"

* * *

Arthur heard Alfred's voice on the other line.

England shifted his eyes to the ground and answered America.

"Yea, it's me..." Arthur noticed how dull and flat his voice sounded. Was he really that sure he was going to die? Hell, if he was, he'd go down fighting. "Listen, America. Are you at Norway's place? If so, leave. Immediately." England left no pause for America to argue.

"There's nothing you can do for him now. Don't come to help me either. Go home, keep yourself safe. We can't let any other countries get infected. I-I..." Arthur trailed off, tears running down his face. Oh, god no... The full force of what was happening finally hit him.

England didn't say anything more for a few minutes, letting the tears fall off his face and onto the ground. Silent sobs shook him. Nothing would help now. He and Norway were goners. There was nothing anyone could do for them. England had made sure most of the population of his country had been evacuated, and had closed off his borders, only a few military ships still remained in the harbor.

* * *

America flinched. He was trying to save Norway- why was England trying to tell him to leave? He was trying to do something good and yet... England was coming up with these horrible plans. Anger welled up inside of Alfred. Before the American could insert his thoughts, Arthur cut him off.

"But-!"

**/"There's nothing you can do for him now. Don't come to help me either. Go home, keep yourself safe. We can't let any other countries get infected. I-I..."/**

Alfred was silent. He heard England's gasping breath and shallow breathing on the other line. Yelling at someone whose homeland was being devoured by zombies probably wasn't the best thing to do. America calmed himself down.

"...England?" He spoke softly. "You're not going to die. Neither is Norway. You guys have the entire world helping out right now, and we're going to get through this. Are you listening to me? We're doing whatever it takes to get rid of these fucking zombies. We're doing anything it takes to save you guys, so don't talk to me like I'm doing this all for nothing. We're only here to help each other."

America paused.

"Besides... if we don't try and stop it now, what will happen? The rest of the world gets infected if we let you guys die. That's why you and Norway are going to be alive. I'm not leaving, and I'm getting Norway right now. I'm coming over to your place whether you like it or not, you hear? ...Stay safe until more reinforcements arrive. Bye."

Alfred hung up his phone, letting out a sigh. What if England was right? What if they were goners...?

* * *

Arthur was crying too hard to care when Alfred had hung up. Alfred's words kept replaying in his mind.

**/"You're not going to die."/**

If only that were true. Tears kept flowing. England let the phone drop out of his hand and fall to the floor, where it landed with a thump, somehow not breaking. He slid to the ground and buried his face in his knees. What were they going to do? What was he going to do? They didn't even know how to kill the damned things. He and Norway had already tried reversing the spell. Nothing had worked.

After what seemed like hours, Arthur had managed to pull himself together. If guns wouldn't work, and the zombies could move as long as the arms and legs were connected to the body, all they had to do was get rid of those factors; burn them, possibly. But how would they get close enough to burn the zombies without getting infected?

England came up with something. It was dreadfully risky, but it might work. It might just be able to hold the zombies off for as long as possible, and possibly get rid of a vast amount. After all, he was good with a sword, and the British army was well trained with swords.

Arthur hurried to his home in the port city. Yes, this might just work. He went up into the attic, looking around for a good five minutes, found what he was looking for and finally opened up a chest. He pulled out some old clothes and a sword as well as a gun. For a moment, he remembered some of the past. A manic grin found its way onto his face. England's emerald green eyes were ablaze, full of energy.

Yes, he would not go down without a fight.

* * *

**Thanks for reading it! Please review!**


	6. Sending Backup

**AN: New chapter! Okay.**

_**First:**_** I will never _ever_ update this fast again until winter vacation, which, luckily, is coming up. So you won't have to wait too long.**

_**Second: **_**Thank you, yokolite, rabidfangirl66, and fluffykitty14 for reviewing! The rest of you that reviewed, I'm not putting you up here for multiple reasons. You're the people who helped me write this!**

**_Third: _I will now list my fellow writers! The ones that have accounts on here, anyway. Writers: Skeleton-Ninja69, Sociopathy, Maesa Wish, and .! There are more, but they don't have accounts on here that I know of.**

**Wow. This is probably the longest AN I've ever had. Anyway, enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

England looked on at the vast amount of zombies in London. He was standing on the outskirts once again, but instead of wearing his usual uniform, he wore a white shirt, faded grey pants, a large red jacket that fluttered in the wind, and a red hat. It all looked natural on him, like he had been meant to be exactly that; a pirate. His sword hung from the left side of his belt, and a gun rested in its holster on the right.

Arthur looked behind him. A military general stood in shook, mouth agape at what Arthur was wearing. "S-sir! What are you doing?" the general stuttered. England could only smirk.

"What does it look like? I'm going to fight. We are going to fight like never before. Have the army draw their swords." He unsheathed his own. "We will not go down without a fight. Hack off as many limbs as you can. Then burn them." A manic grin formed, and a murderous gleam was in his eyes. America would have shuddered if he saw England like this. England threw back his head and laughed; not his usual laugh, but a laugh full of malice and evil.

He looked back at his army. They were all prepared, swords drawn, and a few odd flamethrowers to burn the zombies. He faced London once more, his eyes being shadowed by his hat. He couldn't help but grin. He felt so alive. Captain Arthur Kirkland was back, and things would be very different this time around—very different indeed.

* * *

"You can actually cook unlike certain people I know" was Denmark's version of a complement when he took the first bite. He'd taken a seat at the kitchen table while Faroe was busy at the stove. He didn't know the certain person he was referring to was going suicidal at the moment.

Faroe giggled and started eating. The little stuffed bird was still on his head. He looked over at the phone. Nicholas was wondering if he should try to call Norway again. He looked upset now, getting worried about his brother. Maybe Iceland knew. Faroe made a mental note to remember to call his other brother later.

He watched Faroe as he gazed at the phone, wondering why he was kept in the dark about the zombies this entire time. He figured it'd probably hit harder if the kid figured it out too late but then again he didn't want to scare him to death when it was still confined in a few small areas, so he held it back, also noting how the younger took his blurting on the phone earlier. He took it as a prank. After the lunch was finished he pushed the empty plate forward

"So, what you want to do first?" he asked leaning back in his chair.

Faroe was brought back from his thoughts. "We can maybe play some games..." He wondered if it should be video games or board games. Nicholas took the dishes to the kitchen and went into his room to look through his stuff. Though he checked the Pied Raven egg he had in an incubator before searching again.

"Games are always good," Denmark called out when Faroe walked out of the room to search for something, not caring in the least what they did.

Faroe looked through the games. He picked a video game and went into the living room. It was one of those co-op games he liked to play with Norway. Nicholas turned on the TV to get the game set up.

Denmark walked to the living room hearing the racket Faroe made, suggesting he was getting a game console set up only to walk in when the latest news report was blasted across the screen obviously.

_**"Breaking news. It seems there's a zombie outbreak in parts of England and Norway. More information on this is on CNN News."**_

The monotone lady spoke while a little figure depicting a small mob flashed in the corner before footage was shown full screen. Obviously, whoever ran the station was still trying to keep the level of infection low to avoid panic.

But shit. What a way to find out about the chaos.

* * *

"This is your stop. Hurry up and go, we have jobs to do too." The command from the solider at wheel brought America out of his doubt.

He nodded. "Thanks." America quickly got out of the vehicle, followed by Mexico. The soldier gave the two a salute before they drove away.

"...C'mon, Mexico. Let's get moving."

All Santiago and Alfred had to do is find Norway's house... couldn't be too hard, right?

Mexico looked up when the vehicle stopped. His heart was pounding and his breath came out shuddered. He was scared and hesitated before following America. The Mexican took a quick glance around before hearing the American. "O-Okay..." He was gripping the rifle tightly. If he wasn't wearing gloves, he was sure that his knuckles would probably be white. "So which way?" Santiago looked at Alfred. He tried really hard not to look scared, but fear was clearly embedded in his dark brown eyes.

"Here... I have his address. Hopefully he's home right now." He gave the piece of paper to Mexico, already memorizing the street address.

America and Mexico moved slowly through the desolate Oslo streets. There was no one. The only busy capital was reduced to _nothing_. There were a few dead bodies here and there and maybe the sound of someone crying in the distance. Frequent gun shots from other troops echoed through the hollow city.

Surprisingly, and much to Alfred's joy, they hadn't encountered any zombies. Smiling, he turned his head slightly to talk to Mexico.

"How are ya holding up back there, Santiago? We're half-way there."

Now, turning his head back to what laid ahead of the two. From beyond this point would be a battlefield, because once the two went around the corner, a plague of zombies wandered the streets aimlessly, feasting on dead bodies. Dozens... hundreds... _thousands_. The stench was enough to make Alfred give away right there, but he kept the bile where it should be.

The zombies' eyes (or 'eye' for most cases... or 'holes' for the select few) burned a hole right through America. He knew they were looking at him, and yet, instead of gathering to eat him, they often just turned away.

America watched, keeping absolute silence. One instance, a scattered group of the living dead mobbed together at the sound of a chirping bird. The bird managed to get away, and the zombies were left in mindless chaos amongst themselves. An epiphany came to America. The zombies were blind, brainless, and inhumane; but one sense enhanced itself above the others: sound.

Alfred hoped that Mexico understood as well, but he turned to inform him just in case.

'Mexico! They only respond to sound. We can make it! We can walk right through them and they wouldn't get us. We'll be at Norway's house in no time!'

...is what America meant to say, but all that left his mouth was a gasp as a wondering zombie managed to creep up behind Santiago. On instinct, Alfred drew his shotgun and blew the zombie's head off, nearly taking off Mexico's as well. The echo seemed to go on forever. That was one zombie that the duo didn't need to worry about, but now they had thousands of others making their way towards them.

America's eyes widened in terror. Why didn't he just take Mexico and run!

"S-Shit!" He locked his fingers around Santiago's arms and ran for Norway's house as fast as he could, a parade of zombies trailing behind them.

* * *

England jumped from his spot into the hoard of zombies, his men following. He enjoyed the feeling; the feeling of hacking off limb after limb and leaving them to be burned. He felt alive, so alive. The smell of fire caught his attention, but he ignored it for the most part, letting himself get lost in the fun of battle.

Arthur's emerald green eyes were burning with energy. He was almost unable to contain his feeling of satisfaction as his sword ripped through flesh. If only the world could see him now.

* * *

"So let's see what all the other countries are doing today shall we?" France said sitting on his silk (yes silk, because he's fancy) couch and clicking the power button on his remote. The TV screen lit up with flashing colors as giant words popped up.

"_**There has been a sudden uprising in the dead. Yes, there are Zombies attacking the world. This outbreak started in Norway and England and is slowly spreading."**_

As soon as France heard the words 'started in Norway and England', thoughts started popping into his head. "What the hell has that stupid tea loving British drunkie done now!" he yelled to himself as he got up off his couch, grabbing his battle equipment (let's just say a sword and a handgun) and rushing out his door, leaving the TV on.

After a short boat ride north of his borders, France had arrived at the border of England. He snuck through the security and headed over to England's house, rage building inside of him.

In the distance he could see a mob of zombies. Every once in a while Francis would see a limb fly up into the air, and the edge of a sword following it.

"Arthur what have you started now?" he yelled running into the dead mob, flinging his own sword around to protect himself. He found the British man in the middle.

"Why Arthur? Why did you start this?" the Frenchman yelled, attempting to get the Englishman's attention.

* * *

Norway couldn't believe it. He was going to die. He knew it was inevitable. That wasn't what was getting at him this time. He knew fully well that it was going to happen any day now, but what really made him upset was the fact that he, a _Viking_, couldn't do a damn thing about it. He remembered back when he and Denmark were in their young teens, always going on adventures together...and when he had first discovered Iceland, who had been the most important thing in the world to him ever since that day. The Norwegian couldn't help but let a single tear slide down his face as he stared at a battle axe hung proudly above his fireplace. At this point, it would be flat-out suicidal to go out there alone, but Norway didn't care. He knew what he had to do.

* * *

England ignored France, knowing he was there but not acknowledging his presence. His eyes still glowed with satisfaction as he ripped through the mob of zombies. Arthur mercilessly cut the head off of what had been a British citizen, but no longer.

England could not help but notice France shudder. After all, he was cutting down his citizens without a second thought; cutting down even those that were infected, but not quite zombified, with no regrets.

Another manic grin formed on Arthur's lips. He couldn't help it. Suddenly, all France could see was the British pirate everyone had feared for so long. Jacket billowing, a vicious smirk, and devil eyes. No mercy could be found in those eyes.

* * *

France froze, seeing all the rage and hate in England's eyes… It wasn't like him to just start killing people, especially his own citizens. Some of them weren't even zombies.

His mind snapped back into reality as a zombie approached him. He started slashing it to pieces with his sword. Francis put the sword away and pulled out his handgun and started shooting the zombies.

He turned and watched as England continued to mercifully kill hundreds of his own men.

"England you have to stop this!" he yelled, pointing the small gun at the Brit. "Stop, or were both going down right here were we stand!"

England had just cut down all the zombies in a 5 meter radius from him, and paused when he heard France.

Arthur turned to face him, and it seemed like the whole world had stopped. No one was moving. England just stared, unconcerned, at the gun France was pointing at him. He narrowed his green eyes. Before France could react, England had kicked the small gun out of his hands and was behind the older country, sword pointed at his back, holding the gun. He laughed. It was a cold and heartless laugh.

France tried to turn his head to look at England, but because of the sword about to dig into his back, he couldn't move.

"You think you can do anything? Don't make me laugh, frog!" He cocked his head to the side, smiling dangerously. "What are you doing here anyway? Don't you know it's dangerous to be here?" England said mockingly.

Did England really care that much to scold him while he held a sword up to him?

"Since when have you cared?" he scoffed back, gritting his teeth as the blade of the sword dug into his back. "You've never cared about me, even when we were kids!''

Bad memories came back into his head after he said those words. He didn't want to have another hundred year war with Arthur, especially during a zombie apocalypse.

England didn't care. The frog could say what he wanted. None of it would matter now.

"And you speak like you cared about me? Tsk. I figured. Make me look like the villain when in reality, you never cared for me either."

Arthur fired the gun into a group of zombies, taking the heads off of five with one bullet. He smirked and lowered his sword, throwing the gun back at Francis, and turned and walked away. It seemed at that moment, the world started moving again.

England threw himself into the fray once more, enjoying the adrenaline and the excitement of the battle, forgetting his short conversation with France.

**

* * *

/"You never cared for me either."/**

Did England really say that...? "But how do you know that...? Maybe i do care about you... Maybe I always have..."

France dropped down to his knees, holding the sheath of the sword in his hands, ready to pull it out. He had to think though; either attack Arthur or attack the zombies. Without another moment's thought he pulled the sword out and charged for the Englishman, a look of betrayal in his eyes.

Arthur didn't even have to guess at what the Frenchman was going to do. He knew what was going to happen the moment those words left his mouth.

**/"Maybe I always have..."/**

England slowly turned around to face the Frenchman, making no move to defend himself. He saw Francis charge at him, but when he didn't raise his sword to defend, the Frenchman hesitated. England took advantage of that hesitation, and quickly and easily removed the sword from France's grasp.

"No... You haven't... If you did, you wouldn't be attacking me, at this time of all times..." Arthur was standing a couple yards away from Francis. He let France's sword drop to the ground, his eyes shadowed.

"But Arthur-" Francis was cut off by the Englishman

"Leave, frog. Don't stay here. You'll get infected too." England turned around and stalked away, back to his men and shouted orders.

"Arthur, I... I really do care for you." France called out, but England had walked away. He chased after him and hugged him from behind. "I don't care if I get killed. At least I spent my final minutes with you."

Arthur was surprised when Francis hugged him, but didn't show it. His eyes no longer showed the energy he had had before. As much as he wanted to, England could not cry. The world seemed bleak, and Arthur knew well enough he wasn't going to survive.

**/"I don't care if I get killed. At least I spent my final minutes with you."/**

It was too much. England got out of France's grip and punched him hard in the stomach, making France double over. England caught him as he fell forward. "Don't be stupid, you git. I'm not about to let you get infected. Go home; forget about me. It's too late," he whispered in the Frenchman's ear.

"I'm... Done for..."

* * *

**Oh dear. The cliff hanger bunny has kicked me in the face. Feel free to hunt me down. Except you, rabidfangirl666. You actually know where I live... O_O**

**Please review! Click the review button! You know you want to~**


	7. Rescue Mission

**AN: Hello again! I finally got around to fixing up the chapter. I'm sorry for that nasty cliffhanger last chapter. On a lighter note, no one tried to hunt me down! :D Though I did get an odd threat, courtesy of MattsyKunTehZebra. Thank you for reviewing, despite the odd threat. :D Though the threat made me laugh.**

**Thank you to all of those who reviewed. Because I'm too lazy, I'm not listing you this time. /shot**

**Anyway, enjoy this short chapter!**

* * *

England had just punched him in the stomach. Francis closed his eyes and waited for his impact with the ground. Surprisingly, the Englishman had caught him and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

**/"Don't be stupid, you git. I'm not about to let you get infected. Go home; forget about me. It's too late."/**

"But Arthur, I could never forget about you," France said back, more tears running down his face.

**/"I'm... Done for..."/**

The words that the Englishman had just uttered from his mouth hit Francis like a ton of bricks. Was England really dying? Or was he just saying that to get rid of him? France hugged England close to him.

"England… are… are you really dying? Is it true?" Francis could barely get his words out from his mouth "I couldn't live without you in this world."

England smiled softly at France's words.

Arthur managed to chuckle a little bit. "I'm sorry, France. But I'm afraid you're going to have to." Before France could say anything, England had hit him on the back of the head with his gun, knocking him out. Francis slumped against Arthur, and Arthur laid him gently on the ground. He kissed France's forehead. "Goodbye, frog. I guess I should say that I was glad I met you."

He stood up straight. "Send him back to where he came from!" he shouted to a couple of soldiers. They quickly lifted the unconscious Frenchman and carried him away to a car, where they put him and quickly drove off to the port cities, to send him back to his country.

* * *

America sprinted through the gray, blood-stained, and zombie infested streets with Mexico in hand. Thank god zombies moved only .00005 miles per hour, or else the two would have been suffering from zombie poisoning by now. Speed wasn't an issue, but the actual distance between them and the enemy played a crucial factor. The zombies lunged out at the people at blinding speeds; Alfred knew, because he had witnessed it.

He turned and twisted through the foreign streets, taking numerous detours. America didn't want to lead the zombies to Norway's house. That would be extremely idiotic and un-heroic; Alfred had a reputation to uphold, after all.

The gun strapped across his "50"-imprinted leather jacket pounded against his back. How long have they've been running? He dared to peer over his sore shoulder. What used to be thousands of zombies were now only down to maybe 60 or 70, and all of them were awkwardly wandering in different directions.

America jogged to a stop. He supported himself against a dreary building. Alfred moved his line of vision down a polluted street, panting heavily. Norway's house was just down that corner.

"Mexico..." His words separated themselves between each of his gasping breaths. "Norway's... we're almost... almost there..." America shut up eyes for a moment, searching for a split second of tranquility to ease his throbbing body. Without saying a word, he transferred his balance from the building to his own feet, and he motioned for Santiago to follow him.

Mexico was able to keep up. He was trying to ignore the hordes of zombies behind them. The Mexican was panting when they took a break. He looked around as he listened to America. "Alright..." Santiago followed when they started walking again.

Mexico hesitated before following the American into Norway's house. He looked around a bit. The Mexican wondered if the Norwegian had left. "I hope he's still home..." He continued to look around.

Alfred and Mexico marched into Norway's domain, making sure to close the door behind them. His door was unlocked, fortunately, which saved America the trouble of pounding on Norway's door and causing a lot of noise that could have possible attracted more of those lovely zombies.

The interior was dark and everything was still. The floorboards creaked as the duo progressed forward in their search.

"Norway? Where are you? It's America. I'm here with Mexico." He called out for Norway not in his usual 'The-hero-is-here-HAHAHA!' voice, but loud enough to be heard by anyone in the house.

No reply.

He tried again. "Norway, we have to leave _now_...! I know you're here. C'mon."

Norway's eyes widened upon hearing the sound of his floorboards creaking. Oh no. It was already beginning...or so he thought. As the familiar American's voice reached his ears, the Norwegian forced himself to remember who it belonged too. Who was it? Was it...oh yes, it was that nation who always took control of the World Conferences before Germany could calm everyone else down, wasn't it? The Scandinavian gave a short sigh of relief before stuttering a reply. "A...America? Is...is that you?"

**

* * *

/"I'm sorry, France. But I'm afraid you're going to have to."/**

France gasped, but before he could reply to the Englishman, he had hit him in the back of the head with his gun, knocking the Frenchman unconscious. England laid him down on the ground and lightly kissed him on the forehead.

**/"Goodbye, frog. I guess I should say that I was glad I met you."/**

Francis heard Arthur's final words before completely blacking out.

* * *

Francis slowly opened his eyes and sat up. He was back home in his bed. The back of his head hurt. At first, he thought his memories of when he was in English territory were just a dream. But feeling the pain from the blow he took told him that they weren't.

France jumped out of his bed and ran for the door, before freezing and dropping to his knees. "If I go back there… I'll just end up back here even more beaten up." He cupped his face in his hands as he struggled to keep his tears back.

"I was too weak!" the Frenchman called out before collapsing to the ground, curling up into a ball.

* * *

Antarctica had just arrived at France's house. She had been worried and wanted to see what he was doing about the whole Zombie Invasion, though when she got there, she found France lying on the ground in a ball.

"France? What are you doing?" she questioned worryingly.

France looked up at her. "I was too weak. England is going to die, and I was too weak…." Tears were streaming down his face.

France spotted some people wandering slowly towards his house. But they weren't people, they were Zombies. 'How the hell did they get over here so fast?' he asked himself, reaching for his sword that was next to the door. "They probably followed me here, which means that England's men are probably dead by now" he whispered to himself, opening the door.

"What are you doing now?" Antarctica asked, wondering why France was holding his sword, until she saw the small herd of zombies that were slowly limping towards the house.

"Stay here," France ordered before going outside to get rid of the zombies.

_**

* * *

"...The countries... invasion..."**_

Switzerland rested his chin upon a table of his intertwined fingers. His eyes were closed, and his lip twitched unnervingly at the sputtering sound of his vintage radio. He had just finished up an emergency meeting with his boss and the officials, via video chat, seeing that he wanted to be home if Lilly decided to come over. Needless to say, the conference only brought more troubles upon the Swiss man.

His permanent neutrality... he had made a promise to himself to keep it at all costs- he _needed _to keep it for the sake of his and Liechtenstein's people. However, an interesting point had come up during his little chat:

"No, do _not_ get involved!" Vash pounded his fist onto his desk. "Never get involved in such things- this is the key to our success. There are _hundreds _of other damn countries that can go fight off whatever the hell is out there!"

"Mr. Zwingli!"

This was one of the more outspoken officials. Switzerland was not too fond of him, as this particular one would always oppose whatever plans Vash had in mind.

"Why is it that we are a neutral country?"

"Because it's not our problem-"

"And_ that_ is where you are wrong, sir. We are at the possible Apocalypse. This_ is_ our problem. This is different; different from the usual bickering between countries. If we don't go out there and support our fellow Europeans, then we're on _that_ side. There's not a fucking _neutral_, . We're either with or against them-"

The look of frustration and anger on Switzerland's face called for his boss to chirp in.

"I think we've heard enough. is right; there are many countries that have sent reinforcements to Norway and England to contain the damage... However... It _is_ quite the different scenario. Perhaps neutrality wouldn't be the best in this type of situation."

The conference dragged on for a few more minutes before being disconnected. Vash's boss appointed him with that heavy decision; whether or whether not to get involved in this mess.

He cut off electricity to his and Liechtenstein's house, hoping that his innocent sister wouldn't hear of the devastating news. Vash would not risk dragging Lili into this. Even if he had to lock her in her room and chuck the key into pothole full of zombies. The rustic radio continued on with its poor quality static announcer. Switzerland thought back to that meeting held hours ago...

_**"...bzzz... p... ossibly..."**_

Perhaps...

_**"... nd of the world as we... know it... bzzz..."**_

...Neutrality wasn't the best option.

* * *

**So Swissy is finally in the story! :D**

**And now, poor France has a zombie problem as well. Please review! Those reviews are soul cookies(or something of the sorts) for us writers!**


	8. I'm Sorry

**AN: Ah~ Weekend finally! That means chapters more quickly! :D**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed.**

**I know all of you are wondering where Germany and N. Italy are. Truthfully, no one wanted to write for them. XD We finally have people writing for them and they probably won't appear for a good many chapters. Sorry about that.**

**A great question was brought up in a review. No, this was not inspired by High School of the Dead. It was inspired by a random comment in an OOC thread on a site. |D**

* * *

**/"A...America? Is...is that you?"/**

A grin grew steadily across Alfred's face when Mexico's and his own doubts dissolved.

"Norway!" America dashed through the house, following the trail of Norway's soft spoken voice. It wasn't long until the two discovered the Norwegian's hiding place.

"Thank god, you're alive!" Alfred grabbed Norway around the wrist. America's eyes were full of desperate hope, much in contrast to Norway's.

"We have to go! It's not safe here- I'll call HQ and they'll come pick us up. We can get out of here alive! Go back to my place and wait until we get this thing cleaned up, okay?"

Alfred tugged at Norway's sleeve.

"We don't have much time."

"I...I can't go." the Norwegian replied, not even bothering to fight against the American's grip. It was a useless struggle; however, as he knew that it had to be done. He knew fully well that their time was up, and that the Norwegian would definitely die within the next few days. It was too late for him, but the least he could do was humor the American and follow him out of the once beautiful nation. Oslo, his cherished capital, had suffered worst of all, and it had seemed to spread from there. From his _heart_. "My people...they...I...I let them down...this is all my fault..."

America was stunned. Something about Norway's dialog made it extremely similar to Arthur's when he spoke to the American on the phone. "N-Norway..."

Alfred lifted the fallen country to his feet. He clenched his hands around the Norwegian's shoulders, and with his glinting eyes, he glared deep into Norway's blank ones.

"Don't talk like that! So many people have come to help. We came because we still have faith in you! We can help you... we can make it, only if you let us, please. Your people will live only if _you_ live!"

An awkward silence resumed as America let his words sink in. He released his grip. It was getting dark. Norway's house had never been so depressing.

"America..." the Norwegian replied, not caring about the fact that the American had lifted him to his feet with ease. What he was focused on was the fact that people still had faith in the hopeless nation. It was inevitable, he knew that. He knew he was going to die. The worst part is he never even got a chance to say goodbye. His brothers...Denmark...the others...he never got to say goodbye. And he never would. "I'm...I'm going to die… It's completely inevitable at this point." Norway started, looking back into the American's eyes with his monochromatic ones. "To be honest...I'm...I'm surprised I lasted this long."

"No..." America shook his head slowly. "No, Norway... weren't you listening to me? Don't say stuff like that. I'll call HQ right now and they'll send a helicopter for us. We can hold up until then! If we stay quiet, the zombies won't attack us."

He smiled weakly, feeling persuaded by his own words.

"We can go up to the rooftop and wait until help arrives."

The Norwegian couldn't help but let out a sigh at the American's hopeless ideals. Surely even he knew that the Norwegian's time was up, and yet he found a way to smile. Maybe...maybe there was hope, after all... No. It was useless. The Norwegian knew that the American was just saying this to persuade him to leave his once promising country, which was now nothing more than a landmass of high octane nightmare fuel. That's when the Norwegian glanced at the axe hanging on his wall. "...No. I can't go. My country is suffering. I can't...I can't leave."

Norway's words left America speechless once again. If Alfred had been in Norway's situation, he would have stayed to protect his country no matter what anyone said. He tried to piece together another argument, but the American found a sudden increase in difficulty. He adverted his eyes once or twice in thought.

Norway was right, wasn't he? He stifled a dry chuckle before addressing the Norwegian once again. "Norway... If you really want to, then I guess I can't stop you... But you can't stop me from helping."

A newfound determination surged through America. Preparing the gun that rested on his back, he looked at his Mexican companion, wondering if he was okay with this decision.

"Takk, Amerika," the Norwegian replied, glancing at the Mexican by his side. He knew that while America may be cocky and quite annoying at times, he was also willing to help in almost anybody's time of need. Despite the fact that he knew his death would come quickly, Norway couldn't help but be thankful that he wouldn't be completely alone. There was absolutely no way to prevent the Norwegian's death at this point, sadly, so they could only do so much to help him. "...Is your companion up to it?

The stillness of the house was picking away at America's confidence. On Mexico's word, they'd all rush out of the house and attack the monsters that had converted _millions _of innocents. He had seen it all before; one bite and they were goners. Once the bloody and unknown toxic made its way into their bloodstream, everything would be lost.

It was frightening. America, to his horror, found himself considering actually leaving Norway behind and heading for HQ along with Mexico. He'd tell the Norwegian commander about the unfortunate news... so then what would happen after that? There would be no faith. Norway would cease to exist. Just like that, he'd crumble into dust. The Norwegian would be remembered as the first during the end.

No... Everyone will remember Norway for much more than that. Norway was a soldier, and he and his allies would fight for his country. Norway's death wasn't absolute, so the American hoped.

* * *

Arthur stood on a nearby hill, overlooking the city of London. Fires raged and the stench of burning limbs reached him. Bodies of many zombies were being burned, but the numbers did not seem to decrease. England was no longer battling; no longer smiling. The energy that had once filled and dominated his being had disappeared. His emerald green eyes were no longer ablaze; now only showing fear and exhaustion. He sighed heavily.

"It seems they've broken through." The zombies had gotten through the defenses, and were roaming the land freely, while the British soldiers kept trying to hold them back, knowing there was no longer any point.

England chuckled a little bit; a chuckle full of self-pity and sorrow. "I guess I'll never get the chance..." A soft smile managed to find its way to his lips.

"To say sorry..."

England bowed his head, keeping his gaze on the ground he stood upon, letting his thoughts run unaccounted for.

'I'm sorry...'

'I'm sorry, Norway, for dragging you into this. I'm sorry Ireland, Wales, Scotland, for being a rotten little brother. I don't know if it was true, or if you were just saying those things. And I guess I'll never know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Russia, that we couldn't be friends, and that we hated each other. I'm sorry, Japan, that we couldn't be better friends. I'm sorry, France, that I'm leaving you alone, and that we fought all those years. I'm also sorry we never cared for each other. I'm sorry, Spain, for torturing you all those years. I'm sorry, China, for making you suffer during the Opium Wars. I'm sorry, Canada, I never paid much attention to you, and liked America better. I'm sorry, America, for not being a better brother and ally; sorry for everything. But what I'm especially sorry for, is that none of you are able to hear my apology right now.'

A single tear ran down his face, dripping off his chin and falling to the ground, disappearing into the blood-soaked soil beneath him, just like his country.

'And I'm sorry none of you ever will.'

* * *

**And now I bet you all hate me for ending this with the nastiest cliffhanger possible. I'll be hiding if you need me, working on the next chapter. **

**Please review! :D**


	9. Neutrality: Good or Bad?

**AN: Ahh! I'm so sorry I haven't gotten any chapters up all week! I've been really busy with school and everything. TT^TT**

**Anyway, here's the new chapter! If some characters seem to disappear, I apologize. The people who were writing for them just kind of...stopped. :T**

**Enjoy the new chapter!**

* * *

Lili Zwingli had noticed something a little off that day. She had been restless all morning, fidgeting with her ribbon, constantly smoothing her dress, and once she even dropped a plate she had been putting away. She cut herself picking up the pieces of broken porcelain, and now her bandaged finger ached dully as if to remind her that something was _not_ quite right. She knew that this restlessness wasn't her own; this feeling of mild panic that intermingled with a cold, steady fear pulsed from deep inside her heart—her people were worried, some terrified, and the fact that they felt such a way was making she herself anxious.

She imagined that some sort of crisis must have triggered the series of negative emotions being felt throughout the small country, but she had no way to verify that theory. Electricity had been out since late morning and she hadn't been able to reach Vash through her cell phone. She'd tried her boss too, but his secretary had informed her rather sharply that Herr Tschütscher had his hands full and to please call back at a different time. The response had left Lili mildly stunned—her boss' secretary had always been a rather patient and kind woman.

These developments only left the young girl even more concerned, so now she stood outside, watching a thin sheet of rain hit the paved path up to her house as she waited for her escort to bring the car up. She would have been content to take a bus, but once she had mentioned her desire to pay her brother a trip, an attendant had immediately been arranged as a 'precautionary measure.'

If she was to be honest, these 'precautionary measures' were worrying her more than ever. Liechtenstein had always been a peaceful country with remarkably low crime rates—her government's paranoia could only mean that something unusually serious was happening. She hoped that wasn't so.

There was a quiet sloshing as the car pulled into the street in front of her house, and Lili snapped open her umbrella and stepped into the drizzle, taking care to avoid the puddles that were already forming in the cracks between the stones. The car was a sleek black sedan—one that she was familiar with.

The driver had chauffeured her a few times before and she found the middle-aged man to be quite pleasant. Lili fumbled briefly with the handle before pulling the door wide open, stepping quickly inside and closing her umbrella, being sure to shake off what moisture she could before bringing it with her. "Good day," she greeted her escort with a smile, and though he reciprocated, she thought it looked forced.

He started the car, and soon they were driving through the streets of Vaduz. Lili regarded the familiar shops and paths of her capital with fondness—she had come a long way from her decades of poverty and she was happy to see that her people could live in peace. She prayed now that that peace wouldn't be short-lived.

There hadn't been a single car or pedestrian, Lili realized as they drove on through the city. Usually, even in the winter, she would see people—students passing the day with friends, adults hurrying to work, children playing on the sidewalks but never straying too far from their parents. Now, the streets were empty, occupied only by puddles and the occasional piece of litter. The capital seemed eerily immobile, the only movement being that of their car gliding through the streets, sloshing up the rainwater in their wake. She shivered, but the absence of life wasn't the only thing that unsettled her.

Lili swallowed, and with a certain sense of dread, she looked closer at the buildings that lined the street. They passed a café, its lights shut off, and through the rain-blurred window of the car, she could make out a sign. 'Closed,' it read.

The same applied for the next shop, and the next. It seemed as if the whole city had gone into lockdown. Maybe it was just the electricity, she thought. An unexpected break had shut down the city, they just had to wait until the power company fixed it. Even as she told herself this story, she couldn't help but feel that that wasn't it.

She licked her lips nervously. She could ask. She could always ask. The question was if she wanted to _know_. She fisted her hands on her lap, wrinkling the red material of her dress. It was her duty, she told herself. It was her duty as a nation to know. She took a deep breath, preparing herself. She was overreacting. The way she was making this out, anyone would've thought that America and Russia had finally launched their bombs—it was probably something much less severe.

"Excuse me..." she spoke up hesitantly from the back seat.

Her driver looked back at her through the review mirror, eyes kind, and yet Lili thought she spotted something of fear. "Yes?"

"What—?" Her voice hitched for a brief moment. She gathered herself, took another breath, and began again. "What happen—" no, that wasn't right "What's happening?" she gestured meaningfully to the city outside, lying silent like a tomb.

Her escort frowned, lips drawing into a thin line. Lili could tell that this was a question he hoped she wouldn't ask, yet something he wanted her to hear. He opened his mouth, and she braced herself for whatever news may come (you're overreacting, he's going to give you a really simple explanation and you'll end up laughing at yourself), but then he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Miss," he apologized, voice somewhat choked, "but I think it's best if you hear it from Mr. Zwingli himself."

Her nails dug further into her skin as anxiety overtook her. If it was something that even a government official refused to tell her... Well what _about_ it? She couldn't manage to formulate the thought over her growing sense of dread. Her mouth suddenly felt too dry, so she nodded instead.

She wanted to know (but did she really _want_ it?) the reason behind the feeling of her people's fear and of her own that were growing inside her chest. She agreed anyhow, using the feeble excuse that her brother had probably asked her boss not to tell her anything and that she didn't want to get this nice man in trouble.

She settled back into her seat, doing her best to remain calm. Whatever it was, it would be okay, she told herself firmly. She would see Vash soon, and he would explain everything. He had always been capable—she thought so ever since that day he'd taken her in, when it rained much like it was doing now. Thinking about her brother made Lili relax a little more, and she turned her head to the window once again. They were arriving at the outskirts of Vaduz now, and the buildings were giving away to trees and foliage, everything tinted in gray due to the overcast sky.

The motion of the car and soft swish of the windshield wipers were slowly lulling her towards sleep, and Lili felt her eyelids droop. She would take a little nap, she thought. It was going to be a good hour and a half before they reached Bern anyway and perhaps some sleep would clear her mind.

She caught sight of a dark spot in the sky, and in her drowsy state, she mistook it for an airplane until it swooped down low over the trees. 'A raven,' she corrected herself, then her eyes closed all the way and she went to sleep, thinking of black feathers and wondering why there weren't any planes in the sky.

She woke up when the car stopped moving, and she raised a hand to rub at her eyes. Her vision cleared and she saw that they were parked in front of her brother's house. A sleepy smile made its way across her face—despite how much Vash insisted otherwise, he was careful with money and his house retained a similar look now as it did when she first met him. "Miss?" the official asked, and Lili nodded.

"Thank you," she murmured, and scooted over the seats to grab her umbrella. Once she stood outside under the protection of its navy blue dome, her chauffeur managed to smile and wave before driving off. She had asked if he didn't plan on staying, but he said something about 'having other matters to attend to,' and she did not insist.

She made her way to Vash's front door, stepping over the puddles here too, and pressed a finger to the doorbell. She heard its ring resonate inside the house and she waited patiently for an answer. A few minutes passed and nothing came. Lili sighed. Maybe her brother had fallen asleep in his study again. Last time, she had found him slumped against a stack of paperwork, and she'd pulled a blanket around his shoulders before helping him fill out what she could. He was dedicated to his people, but she thought sometimes that he should take care of himself as well. She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a silver key. Vash had given it to her, in case she dropped by to visit but he wasn't home. Using it now, she unlocked the door and pushed it open, peering into the dim hallway.

The lights were turned off here, so Lili assumed that her brother was on the second floor. 'His study then,' she thought. She would most likely find him there. Stepping into the threshold, she laid her umbrella to the side, and slipped off her wet shoes.

In her stockings, she now padded quietly up the set of steps that would lead her to Vash's supposed location, and sure enough, she spotted the not-quite-closed door to his study. Not completely sure if he was in the room, she nevertheless knocked softly. "Bruder?" she called out, and waited a beat before she grasped the knob and opened the door a little wider to poke her head in.

Vash was seated at his desk, the wooden surface cleared of everything but a small, rustic radio. He had his chin propped on his interlaced fingers, and she guessed that he had been listening intently to whatever was on the news before she came in.

At this distance, she couldn't make out what was being said other than rushes of static, but neither was that her chief concern. Despite her earlier anxiety to find out the happenings that caused such unsettlement, it seemed that her nap had indeed taken her mind off the problem, and now she felt simply content to be near her brother, in a house that wasn't hers, but just as familiar.

With his presence in the room confirmed, Lili stepped fully inside, though she waited by the doorway for his acknowledgement. Whatever he was doing, she didn't wish to disrupt him, so she merely clasped her hands behind her back and lingered, no sign of hurry in her actions. She could never be impatient with him—he was her precious brother, after all.

'Zombies. England. Norway. France. Apocalypse.'

Everything that was needed to be heard was provided in the first thirty minutes of the static broadcast. Now, it lingered on about the universal questions that came instantly upon the knowledge of the rumor of the world's end.

'What are we going to do? What's going to happen to us? How do we stop them?' and things relevant are what numerous radio hosts now concerned themselves about. Some went as far as to create conspiracies this early into this invasion. A more famous rumor held to be that the government was to be the blame. Vash didn't quite get the details, because it was absolute bullshit.

Switzerland focused on his course of action. What _would_ he do? His time to consider his options was interrupted by a fluttering piece of red fabric that most definitely wasn't in his Study when he arrived. A closer observation revealed it to be Liechtenstein, who was patiently shifting around the outskirts of the Study's door frame.

Lili wasn't alien at his house. She would come by every so often, and not as often she would come by unannounced. It was only when Vash was so engaged into his studies that he didn't bother to acknowledge the ring of his cellphone, the knock on his door, or the quiet "Bruder?" that floated into the room. He wouldn't go through the trouble of looking up from his paperwork when he would address his sister with a "Hello, Liechtenstein."

Now it was different from his usual demeanor. The discovery of Liechtenstein wandering around his Study caused him to gasp with worry. How long had she been here? Did she hear anything coming from the radio? He clumsily fumbled around the radio dials, dismissing the static announcers once and for all.

"A-Ah, Liechtenstein..." His voice cracked. He was on edge; this was undoubtedly the doing of this morning's special report. A fist hovered around his mouth as he cleared his throat, looking for any kind of relief.

"You shouldn't be going out when it's raining outside. You'll catch a cold."

His hands played around the leathery grip that came along his black office chair. 'What are you doing here?' was the initial question, but it were these kinds of questions that worried his adopted sibling, and that was the last thing he wanted. A new conflict presented itself to the Swiss. Should he tell her? No- Switzerland needed to protect her at all costs. And Lili knowing about the current situation wouldn't contribute to anything other than another worried person.

However, he knew that he couldn't leave her in the dark forever. She'll realize it soon enough. When she does, she'll wonder to herself, 'Why didn't Vash tell me?' Her sense of trust would immediately go down. Besides, it wasn't like Liechtenstein was oblivious to the horrors of the world. She experienced it first-hand.

It was obvious which was the better choice, but his own stubborn attitude stood in the way. He made a silent oath to tell Lili.

...But he didn't need to tell her now.

He shuffled through the finished papers neatly stacked on top of his polished desk in order to move along the silence without the large amounts of awkwardness. Once his thoughts were resolved, the papers disappeared into his file cabinet.

"Are you hungry, Lili?"

Vash looked tired, the girl thought as she studied his face, standing by the doorway and waiting for him to look up from whatever job currently concerned him. He was too pale and there were circles under his eyes, his hair was not as neat as it usually was. She guessed that whatever was making her people restless had been wearing on him too, and that worried her. Selfishly, she hoped that whatever crisis was going down wouldn't ruin her—_they're_—hard-earned days of peace.

Vash noticed her presence then and started, giving a strangled gasp and reaching out a hand to fumble with the dials on the radio. The quiet hum of static and occasional bursts of speech was cut off when his fingers found the right button, leaving the room in silence. Lili had been slightly disconcerted by his reaction—it wasn't like her brother to give such a panicked response—but her mind nagged that whatever had been on the radio was something he didn't want her to hear.

There was a brief silence as they both gathered their thoughts, and Vash was the first to speak up. "A-Ah, Liechtenstein..." A small crack in his voice that betrayed just how anxious he was, before he lifted a hand to his mouth and cleared his throat, composing himself. "You shouldn't be going out when it's raining outside. You'll catch a cold."

The reminder was so familiar that it took Lili by surprise—it felt out of place in this atmosphere that almost crackled with tension. She blinked then slowly nodded in agreement. "Yes, brother," she said softly. "I'm sorry." The small exchange seemed so normal that she could almost have forgotten the tight feeling in her chest, her unexplainable jumpiness and the desire to constantly look over her shoulder. Maybe that was what they were both after, but ultimately, the fear refused to be ignored.

There was another moment of quiet as they both allowed themselves to be absorbed by their thoughts, Vash picking at the arm of his office chair and Lili nervously twisting her fingers together behind her back. She hoped that he would tell her what had been making her people restless, making her uneasy—what that bandage on her finger was supposed to _mean_, but for the moment, it appeared that no response was forthcoming. She could see that her brother was struggling—struggling to come to terms with his desire to protect her and his desire not to keep her in the dark.

Each second that passed made her fear more. Vash trusted her—always, he wanted to protect her, but he trusted her, confided in her, and he could never hold back the truth for long, yet now he was glaring stubbornly at the stack of papers on his desk as he shuffled them, intent on buying himself time. Unbidden, the thought came to her that perhaps in some way, he was buying hers too. She shivered, hands clenching behind her back. _Bitte, please... Not us._

Finally, Vash seemed to make a decision and the papers were stored neatly away into the drawers of his desk. "Are you hungry, Lili?" he asked, and once again, the mundane question caught the girl completely off-guard.

She fumbled for an answer to the unexpected inquiry. "No—no thank you, I already ate—" she began, then stopped herself. The routine could maybe soothe her nerves, and prepare her better for the news she would inevitably receive—whether it came from Vash or someone else. She sighed. "A cup of tea would be nice," she commented.

Vash shifted in his seat upon Liechtenstein's refusal. However, a quick counter to her own words let him alone within his Study. Sighing, he brushed a hand through his unsightly hair in a miserable attempt to compose himself. The office chair supporting his weight creaked as it tipped back slightly. Now. He had to tell Lili right now. If he didn't, he would put it off until the next day, and the next, until it was too late for apologies.

Switzerland moved out of his depressing Study in order to join his sister. Tea always had a magical calming quality. The thought of discussing the Apocalypse over the lemon scented drink seemed more than out of place- although, everything was out of harmony as it was. Down the hallway, he saw Liechtenstein hover away from the light switch. She was probably wondering why the electricity wasn't running.

Steam rose from the petite tea cups, being handled by a petite girl in a quaint kitchen. The clicking of the small china upon the oak wood table was so unfamiliar. The very thought of his life style- their lifestyle- being ruined brought him out of his usual position. It was a selfish thought; so many others have already ceased to exist. His lips twitched in thought as his nails dug into the wooden door frame.

"Lili." He paused, noticing that his voice wasn't as firm as he intended it to her. "What do you think of our neutrality...?"

* * *

**What is with all the bloody cliff hangers? Ah well. Review!**


	10. More Help

**AN: Hello again. I finally got around to bothering to put up this chapter. Lots of things will be happening. More characters are coming in.**

**Thank you everyone who has been reviewing and favoriting this story! It brings me joy when I receive an email letting me know.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

A Zombie Apocalypse. Or so what a certain news anchor described it as- actually, what _every_ news anchor had described it as. Belarus' sharp blue-purple eyes drew into a tighter squint as she listened to the absurd news broadcast while skimming the numerous reports being filed in by the dozens.

"**...the infectious disease was first spotted in Norway and England. Sweden's borders and parts of France are currently infected..."**

No other words rang significant. As long as this 'Zombie Apocalypse' held its way away from her dear brother's home, she didn't give a damn about it. As long as Ivan was okay...

"Ms. Arlovskaya? More reports came in."

A young spectacled girl dared to move beyond the threshold to present herself to her hostile superior. Belarus grimaced. Transferring from her office seat to her secretary, Natalya's boots stomped across the wood flooring in her usual intimidating matter. The small cower of fear from her annoying secretary was enjoyable, but not enough to lift Belarus from her awful mood.

"If I see anymore 'Zombie' papers cluttering up on my desk I'll deport you and your family down to the fucking Sahara Desert." Her voice was drawn out in a threatening whisper, her piercing eyes cutting through the poor lady like butter. Natalya roughly shoved the useless bundle of reports into her subordinate's small hands. A few slabs of thinned wood fluttered down beside their feet. "Okay?"

The girl nodded quickly, her glasses becoming somewhat misplaced. Belarus' lips curled insincerely, pleased that this simple minded human had the mental capacity to comprehend her orders. "Good."

With a whip of her platinum hair, she tore off a coat from the coat rack. She draped the piece of heavy wool carefully over her military uniform and fixed the pieces of frizzed hair that stuck out. Belarus must look her best before her dear brother, after all.

"Tell Mr. Lukashenko to send a few thousand soldiers to the borders if that makes him feel 'safer'. There would be no use in sending more than that amount, hm?" A slick black boot almost caught a frightened petite hand reaching over to a fallen piece of paper. Belarus wrenched her foot so that the paper was nothing more than shreds. She had to resort to glaring at the top of her secretary's ratty head, as she dared not to look up. Heh, smart girl.

"Keep me updated on which countries are infected. I hope even _you_ can do that." She stepped away from her original position. "I'll be on my way now. Please carry out my orders."

Natalya's white hair flowed behind her as her boots tapped across the pavement towards her car. Her hands were buried away within her navy blue trench coat and her neck tucked safely behind the walls of the high fur-lined collar. Everything would be okay.

* * *

Thailand had finished a conference with the Prime Minister and the Royal Family. It seemed the zombie outbreak hadn't gotten out of hand yet, though it was only a matter of time. Thailand had been allowing citizens from infected countries stay in his. The people were willing, and there were plenty of supplies. The rice fields had just been harvested, and there was plenty to go around, especially since being the world's #1 rice exporter, you needed to have lots of it.

Thailand ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "Ah~ Why must something like this happen when it's been such a good year, ana~?" Thailand walked to the military base. He was going to send help. The Thai army had proven to be formidable and even Japan had had a hard time facing it during WW2. Now Thailand was America's ally, and he was going to send some helicopters to America's location.

* * *

Arthur was fixed to the spot. He was staring out at one spot, and only one spot, everything else around him a blur. His mouth was agape in a soundless cry of sorrow; his eyes were full of fear and sadness. In front of him, only a few meters away, was a zombie. The zombie, however, hadn't been the same as the rest. This one was a child, a little boy of only seven years old. A little boy that had been zombified; a little boy that had his whole life ahead of him, only to be brutally taken away. The little boy's corpse wandered aimlessly, eyes dull and unseeing, unresponsive to what had been a wonderful place, craving only the flesh of other humans.

England couldn't move. Every instinct told him to run; to turn away from the horrid site. But he couldn't take his eyes off the little boy's corpse. He did this. He had done this to the little boy. He had been the one to take away the little boy's life; stop it in its tracks and crush it underfoot. All because he had decided to raise the dead.

Tears started to flow out of Arthur's eyes. He wasn't sobbing; wasn't crying. The tears just flowed out, running down his face and dropping to the ground beneath him. The tears he shed were for the little boy who would never get to experience the joys and sorrows of life. The world around him stopped moving. Arthur could only blame himself for the horrid thing he had done.

* * *

"Of _course_ this isn't 'awesome', idiot. We're being invaded by _zombies_! Now do something about it!" Austria glanced nervously at the news report on the screen, watching as the reporter gabbled frantically about how the end of the world was near. "_Please_, Prussia." He didn't care how pathetic he sounded, asking Prussia. Of all people, for help, but he wasn't the greatest at fighting in general, and certainly not zombies. And who knows, maybe Gilbert had learned a thing or two from those Zombie Invasion video games he was always playing. Only, this wasn't a game.

"Hmmm... You _did_ say please... But I still don't believe you. Who knows... You might have _rigged_ my TV..." Prussia said, walking to the fridge, and grabbing another beer, offering one to Austria. It seemed really sad that Prussia still didn't believe it, even after _watching_ the news, but he was still slightly calm about it. Prussia walked to his phone, picked it up, then looked to Austria.

"God, Prussia, do you _really_ think I would actually bother to rig your TV?" Austria asked angrily, following Prussia to the kitchen, where the albino opened the fridge and retrieved two beers, thrusting one into Roderich's hands. He accepted the beverage, but refused to drink it.

"I'm gonna call France about this..."

"Dammit, Gilbert! Do you really _still_ not believe me? France will tell you the same thing; the zombies are all over the whole damn world, for God's sake! I'm telling the truth!" Austria practically yelled into Prussia's ear. How stupid was he? Did he really actually think Austria would lie about something like this?

After covering his ears, Gilbert laughed maniacally. "Mein Gott! Someone is PMSing... And I'm _still_ gonna call Francis, yeah..." the Prussian said. He took his beer, opened it, and then drank. Looking back to the phone in his hand, he dialed the number to his friend's house, waiting for the phone to be picked up on the other end. He continued to stare at the pissed off Austrian.

* * *

England turned a corner only to run into a dead end. "Damn," he hissed. He had been running for a while now. He looked over his shoulder. "Are you alright?" A little girl revealed her head from behind his shoulder and nodded. Her eyes were wide with fear. They had shown no hope earlier, but now hope shone in those hazel orbs. Arthur had found her by herself when he had gone to check the inner city for survivors after recovering from his initial shock of seeing the zombified boy. He had stumbled upon the small child, alone and frightened, while looking around. He had made sure the girl wasn't infected, and took her along with him. They hadn't been walking for long when zombies started showing up. From that point, England had been running and turning corners in an attempt to get away and save the child's life. But now he had hit a dead end, and zombies were starting to come around the corner.

The child buried her head in his shoulder again. "Don't let them get me! Please!" she begged, crying. Arthur was determined. He would _not_ let this child become a victim of something he had done.

"Don't worry. I won't," he reassured her. He looked around for a possible way out. A couple of ropes caught his eye. "Bingo," he thought. "Hold on tight, okay?" he told the child. She nodded and tightened her hold on his shoulders. Arthur backed up a few meters, got a running start, and jumped, grabbing the ropes that dangled just within his reach. He managed to get a good grip on the ropes, and started climbing.

England finally got to the top of the building. He climbed over the edge, let the girl down from his back, and sat down gasping for air. He looked over the edge of the building. The zombies were just wandering aimlessly again. "We're safe for now," he muttered more to himself than the little girl. Arthur stood up and hoisted the small child onto his back once again. "How old are you?" he asked her.

"I am eight years old."

"You're very young," he smiled at her over his shoulder. "You've got quite a life ahead of you once I get you out of here." She smiled at his words, and giggled a bit.

"Thank you very much, mister!" Arthur just smiled again, and started jumping from rooftop to rooftop. London was a crowded city, the buildings very close together, making it easy to jump across each ally. Once Arthur reached the edge of the city, he climbed down a ladder, still carrying the girl.

"We're almost there. Won't be long now," he told her. She nodded and still clung on. They finally reached the outskirts, and left the city behind. But that was the least of they're problems. In front of England, were hordes of zombies. "Oh no…" he whispered, losing all hope of getting them both out alive.

* * *

Thailand's choppers finally caught sight of Norway's house. "Over there, ana~" he said into his headset. Three helicopters made their way over the border and into Norwegian air space. Thailand's smile was wiped off his face, and he went pale. Corpses were walking around everywhere, feasting on flesh. He immediately diverted his gaze and focused on Norway's house. He glanced at his co-pilot.

"We have the nets and ladders, right, ana~?" he asked.

The co-pilot nodded. "We have them, sir. What is the plan for when we get there?"

Thailand focused his gaze on the path ahead once more. The beating of the chopper's propeller was pounding his eardrums. "We help America and Mexico, ana~ That is all there is to it," he responded. The co-pilot didn't say anything, and just nodded. Thailand smiled again; a determined smile. "We won't let them down, ana~!" he couldn't help but say. Once this was over with, they'd all go help Arthur, and hopefully, this would all end. But he knew it wouldn't.

Thailand shifted the sniper rifle on his lap. He found he liked this weapon best. It was long range, and most people wouldn't expect it. It made it easy to take out enemies. Norway's house steadily got closer. "There it is, ana~! Is everyone ready?" Thailand asked all the pilots. He got a confirmation from each pair in the other two choppers. Everyone was set to go. "Good, ana~!"

Each of the helicopters hovered around the house. One pilot from each chopper left their seats and opened the door to the helicopter they were in. This trio included Thailand. Zombies were around Norway's front door. Each of the snipers took aim.

Three shots rang out simultaneously, each one taking off the head of a zombie. They continued this routine, making sure the doorway would be clear for America, Mexico, and Norway to get out.

* * *

**Yay~! Thailand is now in a decent story! I was so sad when I couldn't find any fanfics on him that were any good.**

**And Woo~! The chapters are pretty long now, huh? I bet you all like that~**

**Well, thats all I have to say. Please review!**


	11. Norway's Final Stand

**AN: Yay~ New chapter! I'm getting them out fast, aren't I? But I'll only be able to get maybe one or two more out until winter vacation starts.**

**Thank you to the people who have kept reviewing!**

**Enjoy the chapter! :D And review after you read! We enjoy getting comments that help us improve and stuff. :D**

* * *

Prussia dialed the number for France's house and stood there with the phone pressed to his ear, waiting for the other end to pick up and staring at the Austrian all the while with a "have-you-lost-your-fucking-mind?" sort of look. Austria grew angrier. How could Gilbert not realize how serious this was?

"Just how much of an idiot are you, Prussia? Calling France is a waste of time! The zombies are going to break down the door and attack us and then we'll become monsters that devour human flesh and it'll be all your fault because you wasted precious time by calling one of your "buddies" to double check that I'm not making this whole thing up!" Austria paused in his rambling to take a breath.

"Prussia. I am going to go _insane_. I am mortally afraid of zombies, did you know that? Did you know that I can't stand the thought of those monsters?" He was almost laughing now. "Really, Prussia, I cannot last long knowing there are zombies out there. I'll probably die of fright before they even get to bite me! I'm fucking serious about this whole thing, and I wish you'd understand that."

The phone started to ring right after France had ran outside to fight the Zombies. Antarctica took her attention away from the window to pick it up.

"H-hello. France's house. How may I help you?" she said in a sweet, calm voice.

* * *

Prussia was waiting for the phone to be picked up, and listened to Austria's rant. He took it to heart, and noticed how horribly terrified the other was of zombies. Then the phone was picked up.

**/"H-hello. France's house. How may I help you?"/**

It was a girl, which really didn't surprise Prussia, but she seemed rather young. "Yeah, can I speak to France?" he asked, sounding dull, but kept his eyes on Austria the entire time.

"I'm sorry but France is currently attacking some Zombies. May I ask whose calling?" Antarctica asked, looking back out the window as France started attacking more and more Zombies as they appeared on his property.

Prussia paused. It _is_ true. And now the biggest pervert is fighting off a horde of zombies as they spoke. Prussia looked out his window, checking. Then back to Austria with wide eyes. "U-uh... P-Prussia. Just tell him when he gets... Back... That Gilbert called. Thank you..." With that, he hung up, then ran upstairs, searching for any weapons, and the keys to the car. He had to make it over to France's house. Even if it took a while. "Austria... You aren't gonna like this... But we gotta go help France..."

Austria stayed silent as the person on the other side picked up. Glancing worriedly at the door every few seconds, he perked up his ears when he heard what Prussia said to the person on the other end. He couldn't hear the other's response, but that must have meant France hadn't been home... What if he had been eaten by zombies? What if they were coming for him next? Austria sat on the counter in the kitchen and pulled his knees to his chest, trying to comfort himself. The zombies were coming to eat him. The zombies were coming to eat him. The zombies were coming to eat him and he was going to die...

While Prussia was walking hurriedly into the kitchen, he glanced at Austria, who was now rocking back and forth, obviously in a state of 'Oh my god, I'm gonna die. The zombies are after me.' Sighing, he set down all of his things he had in his hands at the time, the keys making a jingling sound as they swung around on a keychain, wrapped around the albino's wrist. He placed his hands on Austria's shoulders, attempting to comfort him, but Gilbert had no idea of what he was supposed to do. "Hey, uhh... Calm down, dude. It's not awesome having you sit on the counter like this, rocking like a little kid!"

Austria felt warm hands on his shoulders, attempting to comfort him. "We're all going to die..." he mumbled, his face still hidden. "They're going to come for us, and then we'll all be eaten, and I'll never be able to play my piano ever again and… OH MY GOD THEY ARE GOING TO EAT ME!" he cried, Prussia's attempts to calm him down not even remotely having any effect at all.

Noticing there was no effect on the Austrian, Prussia began mentally flipping out. This guy won't calm down. He had no idea how to help him, except to... Physically comfort him. He put his arms around Austria, offering a friendly hug. It was almost awkward, but there really wasn't anything left to do. Seeing Roderich freak out was making Gilbert mentally freak out, making him uncomfortable and nervous. "Austria... Calm down... I don't wanna have to call Hungary over here... She'd just bust my damn head open if she found out you were here and freaking out like this..." He laughed nervously. 'Not helping...'

Feeling Prussia's arms wrap around him, Austria shuddered and tried to calm himself with deep breaths. Leaning into the warmth of the embrace, he tried to think of things other than zombies. Like his piano. He imagined himself playing piano at home, with no zombies in sight. They weren't anywhere, and they weren't going to kill him, and- NO. THEY WE'RE STILL COMING FOR HIM. "Prussia... they'll eat you too..." Austria mumbled, tears at the corner of his eyes. "And they'll kill Hungary as well, and Italy and Germany and everyone in the whole world...!" He buried his face into Prussia's shoulder, as though if he couldn't see the zombies, then they wouldn't eat him.

Gilbert was actually... Being sensitive for once... But still surprised at the Austrian putting his face in his shoulder, beginning to cry. "A-Austria... Please... I'm awesome enough to protect you all! I'll... Defeat those damn zombies..." He said, now slightly afraid, but being brave for Roderich. The piano man was right. Everyone was in danger and the longer that they stayed there, sobbing and wondering, the faster it spread to the ones that they loved. Thinking with his heart for once in his life, Prussia pulled Roderich away from him, looking at him, then kissed him quickly. He gathered all of the courage he could, looking back to Austria once more, mustering up a smile.

Austria stared blankly up at Prussia as the other pulled him to his feet. "C'mon. We gotta go fight!" Gilbert told him, trying to give him a smile. Austria nodded dumbly, still not quite sure at what had just happened. All he knew now was that there was something else on his mind other than zombies. "Did you... did you just... just... kiss... me?"

Walking to the door, Prussia was stopped by Austria's question.

He smiled at the other. Then said, "I don't know... Was it something like this?" Gilbert rushed towards Roderich, placing the others face in his hands, kissing him deeply. As he stood there, he realized that it was calming them both down, and Austria wasn't complaining about the zombies. Prussia backed away, then went over to a nearby cupboard, grabbing a hand gun from the top shelf, handing it to Austria. "C'mon! We gotta go be heroes!"

Before Austria fully realized it, Prussia's lips met his once more, and he found himself responding to the kiss almost instinctively. The embrace comforted him, and when Gilbert pulled away, a part of him wished that they didn't have to stop. But he knew that wasn't a choice, and he smiled a little as Prussia handed him a gun, figuring he could at least try to overcome his fear of zombies. He didn't want the other nations to die and he would be there to help, no matter how scared he was.

"I'll try..." Austria mumbled, following the albino out the door, hoping that his momentary confidence wouldn't leave him as soon as they ran into a zombie.

This fight was going to last for a while, but Prussia knew they would have to go to war with these creatures, making sure the undead... Would be dead again.

He avoided the thought of how this all might have started, and pushed back the thought of anyone already being dead, as it would have brought down his calm manner in front of Austria, making him go into a panic attack.

Once outside, the sirens began to go off, startling Prussia, but he tried to remain calm. He ran to the car, and quickly unlocked the door. He looked over to Austria, just making sure that he wasn't frightened again, or left behind, and smiled as he saw he was still there.

'As long as I'm not alone... I think I'll be fine...'

* * *

The zombies had invaded Norway and England. Now they've invaded France. This accident was going too far, especially if it was going to kill the whole world.

France was ready with sword in hand, and a gun at his side. He was going to stop the zombies from spreading. There was Spain to the South West, and Italy, Switzerland, and Germany to the east. If he let the Zombies out of his borders then the rest of the world could be infected.

Francis felt like all the pressure in the world was on him. As the zombies approached, he pulled his sword out and charged into the dead mob, swinging the sword around. The feeling of fright was gone and all he could feel was his heart pounding in his chest. The world around him seemed to slow as zombies surrounded him from all sides. He cut off some of their limbs but they still wouldn't go down. He needed back up and quick, or else he would die.

* * *

Sealand finally reached his 'Papa's' home. The micronation began pounding on the door. "Papa Berwald!"

Sweden heard the door over the sounds of panic on the TV, all live. He'd already made arrangements to defend his borders, orders from the boss but it was only a matter of time before the living dead broke through. He eventually got to the door and opened it.

"S'al'nd!"

"W-what's with this stuff about zombies?" His young mind was, of course, easily scared. He had sneaked his way into watching a zombie movie or two, and was _really _hoping this wouldn't turn out like one.

"Y'u he'rd j'st n'w ? 't's tr'e."

He sighed before silently inviting the micronation inside while mentally worrying about Finland, hoping the Finn was safe.

"A-are we gonna be alright?" Sealand stammered. "I'm small! I'll be a zombie in no time!" Yes, he was panicking. But hell, these were_ zombies_, man!

"S'al'nd c'lm d'wn." Sweden stared at the nation still standing outside the door before realizing he wasn't helping much "D'n't w'rry y'u'll b' fin'. N'w 're y'u g'nna c'me 'ns'de?" He went stepping aside and gesturing the invitation a second time. Hell, if there were zombies on his land, the safest place to be would be in his house.

"R-right..." Sealand sniffled lightly. Peter scurried inside. At least it was probably safer here. If he'd stayed on his little concrete island, he'd be doomed.

Sweden shut the door once the micronation was inside and went ahead into the other room to shut the TV off before turning to the Sealander behind him. "H've y'u h'erd fr'm F'nl'nd?"

Peter shook his head, trying to calm down. "No, I though Mama Tino would be with you..." He lost all calmness once more. "What if Mama got taken by the zombies?"

"I h'pe n't." A pause. "I h'ven't h'ard fr'm h'm s'nce b'f're th's st'rted, b't n'w th't this h's, I'm w'rried," Sweden explained all at once.

* * *

Norway tensed up as he heard the somewhat familiar sound of helicopters hovering above his home, only to be followed be a series of gunshots. Outside of his house, the zombies were beginning to drop like flies. What was going on? Had America called somebody else for reinforcements? It may have helped the Norwegian out for now, but he knew it wouldn't hold them off forever. The Norwegian took this moment to examine the corpses that had been shot outside of his door. They were the remains of what appeared to be young adults, mostly female. It was at that moment, the Norwegian knew he deserved to die for making all of these people suffer.

So many lives cut short. He couldn't even bring himself to think of what had happened to all of the children in his country, most of which had probably been feasted upon by their own parents or even other children. His hospitals...his airports...his harbors...they had all been infected as well, and were long gone. As far as he knew, some of the hospitals around the world were trying to create a vaccine to hold off the zombification process, but it was useless. Norway had been completely wiped out, and his country's borders weren't going to hold for much longer. Soon enough, the zombies would get to Sweden, along with possibly getting to Denmark, and even worse, Iceland.

A few gunshots pounded on zombies that seemed to be just outside of Norway's domain. How did _they_ get here so fast? Well... it was a good thing that the Norwegian reinforcements had arrived, or else they'd have a hoard of Zombie's knocking on the door right now. A quick nod from Mexico confirmed the trio's fate. America turned his attention to Norway, a small smile playing at his lips at this final act of redemption.

"Ready?"

The fire burning through the Norwegian's dark purple eyes and the small snarl pulled over his lips said it all; but it could very well be just a mask. He was scared. Mexico was. Even the fearless hero felt a pang of fear slicing through his barriers. Alfred took a deep breath. Perhaps a shotgun wasn't the best weapon against a mass of _millions_ of Zombies, but it would do for now. Four shots left. Once he was done with that, he'd have to quickly replace the empty magazine and start again.

The sniper shots ceased, and America took it as a cue. He and the others exploded from the door and out into the cruel world, ready to take on anything. A final stand for Norway.

The Norwegian gave a simple nod as he gripped his favorite battle axe in his right hand. This was it. He knew that it was going to be the end of him. He deserved it, and he knew that. "I'll head towards Oslo. You guys make your way towards the borders!" he yelled, knowing fully well he was attracting attention towards himself. "Protect the Swedish and Finnish borders at all cost!" Before either the American or the Mexican could reply, the Norwegian headed off towards his capital, knowing fully well that he'd never see the two nations, or any others, after this. It was a cruel fate, but it was worth it if he could manage to hold off the infestation for even a small amount of time.

* * *

Thailand could make out the forms of Mexico, America, and Norway coming out of the house. He signaled to the other choppers, and each sniper gave a confirmation signal. Thailand backed away from the door, grabbed a rope, and threw down a ladder. He let it down far enough so it was above the zombies heads, where they could not get to it, but low enough so any of the three countries could jump and grab hold. The other two soldiers did the same. Thailand spotted America, who was closest to his helicopter. "America! Over here, ana~!" Thailand yelled, waving his free arm to get Alfred's attention. Another person in a different helicopter was doing the same, trying to get Mexico's attention.

Thailand hoped Alfred had noticed him, and was trying to make his way to the ladder. Thailand raised his sniper rifle once more, aimed, and shot off the head of a zombie that America hadn't noticed, and had gotten a bit too close for Thailand's liking. He reloaded his gun, and cursed when he saw Norway not even glancing at the Thai soldier who was trying to get his attention from the third chopper. Norway was off hacking zombies with his axe. "Get to the ladders, ana~!" Thailand yelled to all three, hoping his voice would be heard over the beating of the propeller above him.

Despite the fact that the helicopters propellers were obnoxiously loud, Norway managed to make out half of what the Asian man was saying. Unfortunately for Thailand, however, the Norwegian refused to listen. This was _his_ battle, and he wasn't going to run and hide any longer. He gripped his axe, a once precious memento of his days as a Viking, and hacked through another small horde of what was once his own living, breathing population. It made him feel horrible, looking at the now deformed faces and bodies of some of the civilians he had seen around from time to time, but he knew that he had no choice.


	12. Beginning of the End: Norway's Downfall

**AN: Hello again! New chapter! I managed to get this up and its all ready for you! Hope you all enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: I completely forgot about this. |D We own nothing. We wish we did, but we don't.**

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/"I'll head towards Oslo. You guys make your way towards the borders!"/**

"W-What? Are you an idiot? You'll die out there if you try to kill them alone!"

America had said this, and yet, hadn't the true fate of the Norwegian been sub-consciously established? They all knew what was going to happen, but Alfred clung to every last ounce of hope to prevent such disasters from happening.

**/"Protect the Swedish and Finnish borders at all cost!"/**

Alfred clenched his teeth, ready for another protest. However, the squirt of blood drizzling from a fatal wound delivered to a Zombie not too far from where the American stood brought him out of his craze. That's right; they were standing right in the center of a Zombie zone. He brought his full attention towards the intruding Zombies until another distraction was brought forth.

**/"America! Over here, ana~!"/**

He looked up only the slightest bit, not wanting to have another savior blow off a Zombie head for America's sake. Thailand's hand gripped onto a rope ladder, whereas the other held a sniper rifle. Alfred took a few steps backwards towards the Asian country, taking out a few Zombies that took a step too far into America's invisible borders. One leap was all it took be saved from this hell, but one thought still haunted him. Norway was nowhere to be found. America was given direct orders to keep Norway safe... and yet he carelessly let the axe-wielding country dive into an unfortunate end. America's fear expanded. His wide blue eyes scanned the horizon for Norway, but all he saw were the filthy undead.

**/"Get to the ladders, ana~!"/**

Alfred shook his head, not daring to look away from the Zombie invasion heading straight for them.

"I... I can't! Norway... He's still out there! I have to help him! I can't let him die!"

Thailand gritted his teeth. Alfred was refusing to climb up. If he didn't, and if a zombie got him… Thailand shuddered to think about it. He put down his gun and secured the ropes of the ladders to the helicopter. Thailand slung the sniper rifle over his shoulder and started climbing down the ladder. "I'm going down to get Alfred, ana~!" he said into his headset. He got a confirmation from his co-pilot. "When I tell you, fly the helicopter higher and away from this place, ana. I'll have Alfred with me." He continued his climb down the ladder. Looking to his right, he could see Mexico on one of the ladders, and to his left, the other ladder was still empty, telling him that Norway was also refusing to climb up.

Thailand got close to the end of the ladder and hooked his legs on one of the rungs. After making sure he would not fall out, he leaned backwards to look towards the ground. Without giving America any kind of warning, he grabbed ahold of Alfred by the collar of his shirt. "Now!" he barked into the headset, and he felt himself being lifted higher. He could feel America struggling, but now they were higher up, and it would be too dangerous to let Alfred get loose. "Stop struggling, ana! We're too high up now! You'll break something if you fall from this height, ana!" Thailand ordered the stronger country.

It was upon seeing the Asian male get a hold of America, along with Mexico making his way up the ladder of his respective helicopter, that the Norwegian felt a sharp pain in his leg, causing him to drop his guard for a split second. A small child, no older than five, had managed to bite the Norwegian man's leg while he was focused on the older zombies, and had taken a small-yet-somewhat-lethal chunk out of it. Norway hadn't even noticed the little zombie's appearance until it was too late. Nevertheless, the Norwegian continued to fight his way towards Oslo, practically slicing the small child in two. Unfortunately for him, the scent, and sight, for those special zombies with their eyes still intact, of blood pouring out was attracting more of the undead civilians at a dangerous rate.

The Norwegian continued to struggle, however, and almost made it to his capital. 'Just...Just another mile...' he kept mentally telling himself, knowing that it was too late for him. His axe had become quite blunt after the repetitive swinging and hacking that Norway had put it through. He knew it was over for him, but he still refused to stop fighting. He used anything he could find to fight against the zombies, only to find the object completely worthless. It was over. He knew it was. He had to give up. There was no other choice. The zombies were getting closer and closer, and he was exhausted to the point of nearly collapsing. It was at that moment that the Norwegian's greatest regret wasn't that he had started this whole thing, or that he had let his population suffer. Oh no. His greatest regret was never even being able to say goodbye.

* * *

America was in the middle of a shot when he was suddenly jerked upwards. He yelped as his shirt collar retracted towards his neck, the pressure causing him to be lifted off the ground. Alfred struggled. It was silly; did he think that a Zombie bird swooped down to eat him?

**/"Stop struggling, ana!/**

But America had already stopped by then. He was trying to grab hold of _anything_, as he had absolutely no trust that his cheap cotton shirt would be able to keep him stable at these death-dropping heights. Alfred's body was weighed down in an awkward fashion due to his shotgun hanging limply off to the side, being held up only by the gun strap that was provided by the Norwegian Commander so many hours ago.

"Norway! Norway!"

America's lips were drawn into a wry, inaudible chuckle. It was hilarious how pathetic he was. It was useless. Norway was gone. Alfred felt his eyes glaze over in liquid at his job's failure. It was sad... a once thriving, strong nation reduced to nothing in only a day.

Thailand lifted America up further, getting him close enough to the end of the ladder to grab hold. Thailand was panting. He wasn't as strong as America, and couldn't exactly lift him easily; not to mention Thailand was smaller than America. When America grabbed ahold of the ladder and stayed on, Thailand pulled himself up and started climbing again, beckoning to Alfred to follow.

Once they were safely in the helicopter, Thailand handed a headset to America. "You'll need this, ana~!" he shouted over the sound of the propeller pounding in both of their ears. Thailand shouted something in Thai to the pilot, and the chopper turned around. Thailand looked back at America, who had his headset on.

"We are heading to England right now, ana. The situation there seems to have gotten out of hand. The British soldiers I've been in contact with have reported Arthur missing, ana. They don't know where he's gone, or if he's okay." Thailand informed America grimly, knowing the stronger country would not like the news.

* * *

From where America floated, the zombies were just speckles of destruction growing by the second. Even from this height, the stench was horrible. The sight wasn't anything Alfred wanted to remember, and he figured Thailand wasn't enjoying his time as the difference between life and death for the American. He swung over and grabbed hold of the rope ladder. Thailand seemed relieved. America quickly followed the Asian up the frighteningly shaky rope ladder and into the safety of the Helicopter

It was only until then Alfred realized that his limbs were reduced to jelly. He was shaking. Norway was dead because he wasn't able to save him. Some hero he was... Thailand helped the distraught country into the seat and turned away for a brief moment. During that time, America decided to reflect on this hectic day. The news report from London. Closing his borders. His own people were panicking, but never to the extent to the Norwegian and English citizens. The heartbreaking scene of a destroyed Norway... and an even more heartbreaking scene of Norway losing to this destruction. All because... because of _them_. A sudden fury of anger was unleashed within the American.

Fortunately, Thailand came back to break the tension.

**/"You'll need this, ana~!"/** The Asian handed him a headset, which Alfred slipped on with ease. **/"We are heading to England right now, ana..."/** Thailand delivered the rest of the news, much to America's discomfort. He wouldn't be able to fulfill Norway's last wish of protecting Sweden's borders, but everyone knew that England was in a much dire situation. He wouldn't leave Arthur in the same position as Norway.

Alfred nodded softly. "Okay..." He lifted his head and gave Thailand a small smile of gratitude, not forgetting his manners. "Thanks."

He checked his cellphone. Once Alfred landed in England, he would dread the call to the Norwegian commander who placed his absolute trust within the American and the Mexican to save their dear country. A couple thousand new messages, all of them reading the same thing: the Zombie Invasion had spread to France. Great.

Day changed to night, and the once beautiful English night sky was obscured with black smoke rising from several fires, burning zombies. Thailand sighed softly, a sad smile slipping onto his face. "I'm worried, ana," he told the American. "No one knows where England is. It been quite a while now too, ana, and he still hasn't shown up." Thailand's phone vibrated, and he took it out to check the e-mail he had just received. "From what the reports are saying, it is likely England is still alive though, ana. The last person to see him was a young soldier that Arthur had ordered to evacuate. After that, the soldier reported seeing Arthur running towards London. And since then, they've lost all contact with him, ana…"

He looked at the land below them. He could see the ocean in the distance, the only thing not ruined by the invasion. The sandy shores were still clear and waves licked at the rocky cliffs gently. Looking out at the sea- so calm as it was- it almost seemed like England wasn't in danger. But when Thailand turned his head to look out the other side, all he could see was a wasteland that had once been a beautiful city.

America heeded Thailand's updates, a deep frown creasing his face. He saw what Thailand saw; a beautiful, undisturbed beach, untouched by the realities of the world. If Alfred could wade in it's beautiful waters, if he could nap under a large beach umbrella, if he could stumble along the sandy stretch with friends and laugh as if live would go on forever... if he could just walk along the only piece of normality left he would be at ease.

No, zombies were the new normality, wasn't it? He was reminded of this at the sight of the burning city that lay not too far away from the strip of heaven. It struggled to keep all its lights on in order to keep from the hard working soldiers from shooting in the dark. It was only a matter of time until he, Thailand, and Mexico would join them. Would this cycle continue forever? Was this really the end of the world? Perhaps all he strived for was for naught. Or perhaps it was exactly this kind of thinking that left countries for ruin.


	13. So Many

**AN: Hello. Finally! New chapter! Yea. This one is pretty long!**

**Disclaimer: Lets just do this since I remembered it for once. :'D We don't own anything, only the OCs.**

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* * *

/"We have to make sure he's okay!"/**

"I 'gree." Sweden replied as calmly as he could before getting a call from his boss. A few inaudible grunts and he hung up, turned to Sealand and gave him the news.

"N'rw'y 's d'ad." Another pause. "S' I c'n't g' l'ok'ng for F'nl'd." Yeah it was clear his borders probably weren't going to hold out much longer and once the zombies broke through, he'd have more important things to worry about.

Peter's eyes went wide with fear. Already? Already nations were dying? "D...Dead?" He repeated. "But he's so close to you and Mama; right next to ya'...Does that mean...?" He let the words hang in the air.

An eerie silence filled the air until the Swede spoke again. "Th' 'nly th'ng I c'n d' 's s'rvive 's l'ng 's I c'n 'r 'nt'll h'lp c'mes." Another eerie pause. "B't I w'n't l't 'nyt'ng h'pp'n t' y'u 'r F'nn."

Sealand stood there, silence engulfing them. They'd be alright. Papa Berwald was strong! Why, he'd bet even the zombies would run back to their graves if they saw him angry. He rubbed at his eye, trying not to get freaked out again. Still silent Su-san threw a hug around the obviously scared micronation in attempts to calm the poor kid down. Sealand sniffled, burying his face in his Papa's clothes. Norway had already died, who was next? And he was even a rather large country; he himself could be gone, just like that. Sweden just calmly closed his eyes and held the kid tightly for a bit before guiding him over to one of the couches. Sealand sat down, gripping the fabric of the furniture tightly. He was calmer on the outside, but all the fear still whirled around inside him. If his Mama and Papa didn't make it... They were the key people, of a very small amount, that cared about him, and were too important for the little micronation to lose.

"D' y'u w'nt 'nyth'ng wh'le y'u're h'r'?" Sweden asked a little while later, trying to move on from this stress himself, figuring that as long as the Sealander and his wife lived, everything would be fine.

* * *

The water had heated, and now the kettle let out a shrill scream, alerting Lili back the present. Switching the fire off, she poured the boiling liquid into the prepared cups, inhaling the calming scent that arose from the porcelain. Absorbed in these tasks, and her own thoughts, she didn't notice Vash's presence until he spoke up from the doorway. **/"Lili..."/**

She jumped, slightly startled, and the sudden movement caused her hand to jerk, though luckily the hot contents of the mugs didn't spill. "Oh—oh, Bruder. I'm sorry, I didn't notice you—" she apologized with a small stammer, still mildly alarmed from the unannounced appearance. The emotions of her people she could feel coursing through her veins were making her incredibly nervous; they were affecting her way too much, and now she was so jumpy as well—

**/"What do you think of our neutrality...?"/** her brother asked. His somber expression coupled with that question left Lili absolutely speechless. Vash could be considered a cynic; he doubted everything, and challenged it all, from government policies to a person's morality, but one thing he would never call into question was their stance of 'permanent neutrality.' Now that he was asking her—now that he was _uncertain_ of it—that shook Lili more than ever and she regarded him with a wide-eyed stare. Things must be worse, much worse, than she had previously thought.

She had broached a similar subject once, when Europe—no, the entire world—seemed to be at a dead standstill. For those tense weeks in October 1962, the nations all held their breaths as they tensely regarded the two superpowers eyeing each other across the Pacific. The Kubakrise was the closest the Earth had come to nuclear war—had been since then—and Lili had asked Vash herself what would become of them if the destruction started in earnest. Stiffly, her brother had given her a shake of the head, and repeated the phrase they were so well-known for. "Permanent neutrality."

But now she was standing in the kitchen, the dim light of a cloudy dusk the only thing to brighten the room, staring at her brother who stood at the doorway, and who—incredibly—looked defeated. "Bru... der?" she managed to choke out. He couldn't possibly be considering withdrawing their neutrality, could he? How bad was it? What was it? Why were her people panicking? Why were some now talking about 'flying across the ocean'? Why were some packing their belongings as if they refugees? Why was this incomprehensible fear the only thing she could detect from them? Why wouldn't he _tell her?_

'Bruder... That's not fair, Bruder,' she thought sadly. 'But...' she swallowed, and thought with an unquestionable devotion, 'but I trust you.' So she closed her eyes. **/What do you think of our neutrality...?/ **the words echoed in her mind, bleak and foreboding, and once again, the meaning behind that question made her feel terrified and weak. Something horrible—unimaginably so—was amiss, and if she was correct, it involved the entire world**. /What do you think of our neutrality.../**

The answer came almost immediately, so incredibly selfish and unforgivable that Lili immediately felt ashamed of herself. Such a response was pushed violently aside (but what if—what if it was the chance of saving what had become _them_?) and that self-serving part of her—the part that would forsake the world for them, for _Vash_—she smothered with a terrified determination, as if she could kill this dark side of herself.

"I..." she began, searching desperately for a solution, one that was less morbid and entirely less truthful. Clenching her fingers tightly, biting at her tongue, she gazed at her brother, trying to mask the despair that seemed unmaskable . "Bruder, I..." she stopped again, and this time she had to press a hand to her mouth, simultaneously trying to retain her calm and to stop the flow of ugly, irreversible words that threatened to pour out.

Somehow, with the passing of several seconds in silence, the words were choked back, the tumultuous emotions stifled, and, trembling slightly, Lili dropped her hand to her side. In the brief moment, she had made a decision; one that her desire rebelled against, but was ultimately _right_; one that could very likely cause irreparable damage, but it would keep her evil at bay.

"Bruder..." She stepped away from the counter, made her way across the white-tiled floors until she stood in front of Vash. Reaching out, she lightly took his hands in hers. She met his eyes, and managed to smile. She hoped what she said as a lie now could become the truth someday. "If you must become involved, Bruder, then so be it; if we can't keep our neutrality," (if it can't even save us this time) "then we shouldn't hesitate to take sides." She squeezed his palms reassuringly. "Whatever you decide, Bruder, I'll always follow you."

The shadows dancing around the kitchen expanded, covering the room in another shade of darkness. The wooden clock fashioned out of cheap wood and metals chimed through the thick cloud of silence. The blackout that Vash had issued would end in five to ten minutes to the benefit of his schedule. The scribbles written hastily on his post-it agenda for the day stated that, by this time, he would have told Liechtenstein about the dire situation spreading through all of Europe and he would have decided their actions for the course of this war. However, this task proved to be unnaturally difficult, and Switzerland was hours behind his last minute plan.

It was a cruel question, and Vash knew it. Forcing the idea down the throat of his little sister was even worse. They both knew the question would present itself one day despite their hopes for it not to be. The whiplash took effect as Liechtenstein stammered for a correct answer through her confused and desperate state. Switzerland dug his nails deeper within the soft wood and played with a fake cough in order to jail his actions to say "I'm sorry, Liechtenstein. Forget it." As much as he would love to put Lili out of this misery, it would only stimulate more in the future. Switzerland, the most prudent of all countries, seemed to be the only one procrastinating while the other nations flew into action within hours. The irony was enough to kill him.

His eyes flashed between the numerous equipment and various items stationed in the room. The oven where he had carelessly burnt himself over a quiche. The small crack hidden away under a table sheet as the result of a sudden collapse due to the wooden slab's rustic structure. The counter he had re-tiled a few months prior whilst thinking of Liechtenstein's small remark of the mundane matter of his home, which he knew her intentions where only teasing. And, of course, there was Liechtenstein, who would forever stoop high above his gun collection and his banks.

**/"Whatever you decide, Bruder, I'll always follow you."/**

Vash only grunted in response. The hint of insincerity in her surprised him, but now wasn't the time to brood over every assumption of refusal. She said what she said and she couldn't deny it. He would have to acknowledge Liechtenstein as a true adult in contradiction to her delicate age. His hand flexed and adjusted itself into the smaller hands that held it.

"Thank you." Switzerland pulled through with a small smile of his own, happy to know that his sister wouldn't abandon him for now. The two stood there in a long pause, thinking about the future; the consequences of the recent exchange of words. His hand pulled away from Lili's. He had to tell her _now_.

"Excuse me... Liechtenstein, please return to the Study once you are finished," he referred to the cooled tea. "There are a few things I want you to see."

Switzerland departed from the kitchen and treaded up the stairs. The floorboards creaked as he shifted his weight from one foot to another while making his way back into the familiar room. He opened his drawer, and hidden away under stacks of work papers were the relevant reports. On his television he recorded the news broadcast that captured it all. The sound of Lili's footsteps moved in tempo to the pang of his heart pounding his rib cage. He quickened his pace to get all of the documents ready and to stabilize his shifts in emotion.

Lili received only a grunt as a response, but the answering squeeze she felt that accompanied it was enough for her. With her smaller hands cupped in his larger ones, she could feel the warmth of Vash's skin, and the rough texture of the callouses that lined his palm and fingers. It was proof of the harsh years he had lived through, she thought, whose influence had not yet totally left, even in the days now lived in peace. Though she supposed that the definition of 'now' would have to be rewritten.

**/"Thank you."/** He managed to smile, and though it was a small one, Lili would have given anything for it not to be the last. She nodded wordlessly, afraid that if she spoke now, her voice would fail her. Her response to Vash weighed on her heavily—every nerve in her body told her to take it back now while there was still a chance, so that they could continue their peaceful, _happy_, every days, and who cared if the world burst into flames as a consequence?

Swallowing, she knew she could not allow her selfishness to speak for her. She had already promised—where Vash went, she would follow, and if he felt that the world needed them... Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she made a second promise, this time a silent vow to herself. If he felt that they were needed, that their neutrality was to be withdrawn, the least she could do was give him her unconditional support, and if need be, she would pay back what she owed him in full.

Vash pulled away from her. Muttering a quick excuse, he asked her to meet him back in the study once she had finished. She nodded again. "Of course, Bruder..." though at this point, she didn't feel much like 'finishing.' He was planning on telling her now, wasn't he? And though she had been anxious to hear the news before, she wondered presently if she really wanted to. After the events that had just taken place, her stomach was in knots and her head whirled at the thought of hearing the _reason_. But it was her duty. She was a country, and it was what she owed her people. Vash wasn't the only thing that was precious to her.

Alone now, Lili made her way back to the counter, steps slow and unsteady. The cup of tea was retrieved and set on the wooden kitchen table as she slumped into a seat herself. She would have followed Vash immediately, but she knew that they needed this moment to themselves. He would have to prepare himself to tell her, and she to listen to whatever was sure to come. Most importantly, they both had to consider their steps towards the future that this information would bring. For the second time in not long enough, she wished that she could have given a different answer.

For a moment, she merely rested, hands wrapped loosely around the porcelain cup, and back pressed against the support of the chair. Then on an impulse, Lili pushed back from the table, raising herself from the seat. Breathing a little deeper, but nevertheless resolute, the young girl turned to face the window. She sank to her knees. She hadn't done so with as much devotion for a while, but now she clasped her hands together and closed her eyes, bowing her head.

Silence once again dominated the room, though her lips could be seen moving as she uttered out sentences and phrases, pleading the support of some higher being. She remained in that position for an unknown amount of time, and she didn't stand until her legs began to ache and the shadows had extended to drape the kitchen in gray, and only then did she brush herself off and empty the cups of untouched tea.

* * *

Austria tried to remain calm as he heard the sirens ringing through the air, the shrill screech causing his eardrums to throb. He followed Prussia quickly to the car, not wanting to remain outside in the "danger zone." Once they were both safely inside, Prussia in the driver's seat and Austria as the passenger, Roderich turned to the albino. "So... We have to go give France some back up, right?" He asked, his hands gripping the gun in his hands nervously. "Is the zombie invasion bad at his place?" He really was trying to be brave, but having a mortal fear of zombies wasn't helping at all. At least he wasn't alone. Gilbert was doing his best to calm the musician down, and he was grateful for that.

Prussia winced at the loud siren, then put the keys into the ignition. The engine revved up, and Prussia turned to the Austrian, smirking. "We'll have to find out when we get there, if he isn't..."

'I shouldn't continue with that comment...' he thought, 'It might not help with his situation.' Prussia's smirk became a glare, as he stared out the front windshield. "It's gonna take a while to get there... Oh, hold on." The Prussian kicked the car into reverse, out of the driveway, then sped off to France, avoiding eye contact with Austria sitting next to him.

Prussia trailed off realizing that his somewhat crude comments might not help in this situation. Austria was thankful for that, for he didn't want the silent fears neither of them wanted to admit to be voiced out loud.

They traveled to France's place in silence, both staring straight ahead at the road in front, afraid to look at the other. It was extremely likely that one or both of them were going to die in this war against zombies, and Austria found himself gripping the gun tighter and tighter in his hands, until his knuckles were a deathly white. He really didn't want to die, and he didn't want Prussia to die either. He didn't want _anyone _to die.

He wasn't a violent person, and he couldn't fight well. But here he was, heading straight towards a likely death, and bringing Prussia along with him. He closed his eyes, surrendering to the hopelessness of his thoughts. He felt the car come to a stop, but he didn't open his eyes. He knew when he did, he would see the zombies, those rotting corpses of the undead that would surely eat him and everyone he knew.

Prussia ended up stopping in an alley not far away from where France lived, making sure there weren't any zombies nearby. He turned to Austria, whose eyes were almost glued shut, probably making sure he wasn't making eye contact with any of the undead. Prussia laughed, and tapped the other on the shoulder with his free hand. "Austria... There aren't any zombies here, but we have to ditch the car. While I pulled in, I noticed a motorcycle. We gotta take that."

Prussia read a book- surprisingly -about surviving zombie attacks.

'Helpful Hint #7: Get out of the car, get onto the bike.'

Austria slowly opened his eyes, glancing around to assure himself there weren't any zombies. Having confirmed that fact, he climbed out of the car and walked to where Prussia was, attempting to act brave, though on the inside he just wanted to curl into a ball and cry until the zombies ate him. "Um, why do we need the motorcycle?" Austria questioned rather curiously, not really comprehending where Gilbert had gotten the idea that it would be better to ride on a motorcycle.

Prussia chuckled, putting a hand on Roderich's shoulder. "Motorcycles are easier to maneuver. Plus, it's also easier to use your weapons on. And they don't need a lot of gas, so I've heard..." He really was playing it off, but he knew what they needed to do. Luckily, the bastard left the keys in the ignition and two helmets on the ground next to the mechanical bike. "Good... Pick up a helmet and get on!" he yelled, grabbing one of the helmets, and hopping on, leaving one hand open for his weapon. Prussia waited for Austria to get on, chuckling, "Just put your arms around my waist to hold on. The awesome me will get us to France in _no _time!"

Austria grabbed one of the helmets hesitantly. He didn't know much about fighting zombies, but Prussia seemed to know what he was talking about. Fitting the helmet upon his head, Austria clambered onto the motorcycle behind Gilbert and wrapped his arms around his waist, blushing ever so slightly.

The bike sank down slightly as Austria hopped on behind him. Once he felt Austria's arms around his waist, Prussia understood now that there was no turning back or hiding once this motorcycle left the alley. He had to help his friend now, before it was too late.

"I'm ready when you are," Austria mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut once again as the motor hummed.

Confirmation. A smirk decorated the albino's face. "Heh... Hold on!" Prussia yelled, revving the engine once more, speeding off towards France's home.

Austria felt the wind rush past his face, and his buried his face into the back of Prussia's shirt, wishing that he could disappear. Maybe then the zombies wouldn't be able to get him. But that was a foolish thought, and Roderich knew there was no way out of this. He would fight for his friends, his loved ones, and if he went down fighting, so be it. At least, that was what Austria told himself. He would be brave, he could face his fears. With that thought, he slowly lifted his head up and opened his eyes ever so slowly, just as Prussia rounded the corner and France came into view.

* * *

France was, to put it bluntly, in rather bad shape. His once extravagant royal blue coat he was so proud of was torn, hanging haphazardly upon his shoulders. His bruised face was screwed into an expression of concentration as he battled the zombies with his sword.

And the zombies. The horrible, rotting flesh on their bodies reeked with the stench of the dead, and they flung themselves at France over and over again. They just kept coming, there were more every minute, and Austria could feel his confidence ebbing away as he took in the fullness of his worst fear becoming reality. But he couldn't give up. Not now. It was too late for that, and he knew it was his duty to help the best he could. His face expressionless, Austria sat with his back straight and head held high, waiting for the dreaded moment when the zombies would realize the presence of the two newcomers.

* * *

There was France, in the middle of a battle between the undead and living. He was in really bad shape, from what Prussia could tell; there was still a good distance between the two nations on the bike and the one suffering in a fight.

As that distance was closing, Prussia did the badass thing and shot any zombie in the way, blood splattering across him, Austria, and their helmets.

"FRANCE! We're here to save your ass!" France was in the middle of a fight. No it wasn't a fight it was a war; a war between him and about 1000 rotting corpses.

He was battered and tired. His arms felt heavy and tired as he swung his sword around, killing a few Zombies in the process.

A familiar voice rung through the air and distracted the Frenchman. He turned to see his old Friend, Prussia, and right behind him, Austria.

As he was distracted, a zombie managed to jump on his back and cut him, only adding to the blood that was already shed on his body.

Suddenly, the zombie on his back was shot into millions of pieces. He turned around and saw Austria on the back of the motorcycle holding a gun, something he never thought he would see.

"Hey, you could've shot me!" France exclaimed, cutting off another zombie head as he ran out of the giant mob that had formed around him.

Austria shrugged. "Well, I didn't, so it's all good. And now the zombie isn't on your back anymore. So be happy I'm helping you, fool." Trying to ignore the unpleasant chill running down his spine, Austria blasted two more zombies as they advanced the motorbike. He told himself that it was okay to shoot the zombies, they needed to be returned to the dead, but all the while he was silently hating himself for attacking the poor, mindless corpses.

And as more zombies advanced, Austria found that tears were streaming down his face as he shot a zombie that resembled Hungary, a long dead woman with a flower in her hair, who's skull shattered as the bullet went through her forehead. But he couldn't back down, he needed to help France, and there was no way he would be able to hide or run away. And so he kept on shooting, letting the tears stain his cheeks, not trying to hide them from Prussia or France.

France being scratched by a corpse. Austria's shot, ringing in his ear.

It was all a little too much for him to handle. But Prussia continued to ram into any on-coming undead foes. Their remains splattered on the ground and on him as they were either run down or shot by Austria from behind him. He could also tell that something was wrong with Roderich at the time, as his body was slightly shaking. But he fought on.

"Hold on for a moment!" he yelled to Austria.

The albino stopped the motorcycle, jumping off, and grabbing a knocked over sign-post, swinging it over his head, running into the horde of corpses. He ended up knocking off a few heads, then ran back to the motorcycle, grabbing Austria by the wrist. Prussia looked him straight in the eyes, and Roderich had been crying.

"We gotta get France to a safe place, but we have to run."

France kept running towards the motorcycle as it advanced towards him. He stopped dead in his tracks and just stood there staring straight at the motorcycle. He didn't know what to do any more except to just breathe and stay away from zombies.

The only thing Francis could hear was his own heart pounding in his chest. The world seemed blurred to him and the ground seemed like it was moving. The only thing that brought him back was Austria yelling back at him.

**/"Well, I didn't, so it's all good. And now the zombie isn't on your back anymore. So be happy I'm helping you, fool."/**

Realizing that he was bleeding again sent him into thought. 'If I've already been bitten by a zombie then…. I'm next aren't I?' He shook his head, trying to erase the thought from his mind, but with no success.

"It doesn't matter anymore. I've already been bit. I don't think I'll last much longer," he admitted, staring down at the ground as it seemed to blur again.

A distinct moan that could only come from a zombie snapped his mind back into battle mode. He turned around and slashed the zombie that had approached him, its blood splattering his beaten face as the rotting corpse fell to the ground.

The hoard of the dead that he had run away from had caught up to him. The Frenchman ran back into the mob and limbs went flying into the air. His mind went completely blank again and the world around him slowed down, only the blurred images of rotting flesh passed through his mind as he fought for his own life, but most of all he was fighting for his friends' lives as well.

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**Well, since I think it'd be fun, I'd like to ask you all to guess which characters I write for. Just for the lolz. Please review. :'D**


	14. Ignorance Is No Longer Bliss

**AN: WOO! New chapter again! :D This one doesn't have as much happening, but its a pretty good chapter nevertheless. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Since I remembered, I'll actually do this. :D We don't own Hetalia. If we did, this story would most likely be in the process of becoming a movie or something. *okaymaybenot***

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She rapped softly on the door to her brother's study. Lili was now standing at the top of the staircase, facing the wooden structure that occupied one side of the wall of the brightly-lit hallway. (As she had made her way to climb the darkened stairs, she instinctively searched out the light switch, momentarily forgetting the power outage, only to be pleasantly surprised when the overheads flared to life.) A muffled response from within, and she pushed the door open.

For a moment, neither of them said anything as they silently regarded one another from their positions across the floor. She got the feeling that this was a deciding moment, and if either of them backed down now, things that needed to be said would remain forever unspoken, so taking a deep breath in an attempt to compose herself further, Lili stepped fully into the room.

She crossed the carpeted floor in determined steps, and slipped into the chair across from Vash's desk. She was incredibly nervous—her people's fears were building on top of her own—her chest felt constricted and she found it hard to breathe. But she would pull through, she told herself. She would be prepared for whatever news would come, because her people relied on her, and she couldn't let them down. Not them, not Vash.

She realized that her hands were gripping the material of her dress hard enough that her knuckles turned white. She loosened her hold, but her fingers remained curled into fists that rested on her lap. Biting the inside of her cheek and briefly closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. When she opened them again, they shone with a certain determination—whatever happened from that moment forth, Lili would face without turning away. She wouldn't run no matter what horrible things happened, because her people needed her, because she _would_ stay by Vash's side. With such a resolution in mind, she broke the silence that both of them had been waiting to hear. "Bruder, what has been happening?"

"Come in."

The door pushed open with a squeal, a reminder of the rusty hinges. A small figure silently stepped into the room with a deep breath. Neither of them were not yet quite prepared for the inevitable future, but in truth, no one was ever prepared for what loomed ahead. Both Liechtenstein and Switzerland kept their mute stance. Vash pushed his glasses back into its proper position above the bridge of his nose. His eyes darted back and forth between relevant documents. He had already prepared the right amount for Lili's arrival, however, Switzerland wanted to make sure that he included every fragment of information concerning the ordeal.

**/"Bruder, what has been happening?"/**

Vash remained silent, still glued onto the papers rubbing his hands. Why was he doing this? He knew what was happening. He called for every single news update to be faxed or e-mailed to him. He knew which countries were infected and which weren't. He knew what the bosses talked about in their emergency meetings. He knew the government actions other countries took, from Cameroon to America, and how successful they were. Wasn't he the one viciously taking notes while reading the documents, while listening to the radio, and while watching the news broadcasts? The papers that grazed his hands were another excuse to buy more time. The very thought disgusted him to the very core of his soul; _being cowardly_.

For an instant, a scowl crossed his face. He slapped the bundles of papers of his desk, creating a waterfall of Zombie headlines off to his left. A few landed in the desired location of the trash bin, while the majority fluttered hopelessly across the floor. Vash pushed himself away from his seat.

"Please, sit down," he gestured to the cushioned chair that stood across from his desk.

From the file cabinet, Switzerland retrieved an orange folder labeled vaguely with a scratchy "Z." It held momento of hours past, thick with papers and photographs. A transfer was made between the two nations. Liechtenstein clutched the large file with her small hands. Switzerland felt a hint of quick-rising sadness and guilt as the heavy papers left his own possession. The burden that he was placing on his little sister was unbelievable; the shell of bliss ignorance was shattered.

Vash clicked the remote towards the television set snuggled in its cabinet. The static sputtered to life and he set it to the various news recordings ordered accordingly. He pulled his shaky hands together behind his back after setting the remote away.

"Listen carefully, read everything, examine the pictures... everything until you understand, Liechtenstein." The visual and listening aids would provide with the adequate learning experience. In addition to Lilly's intelligence, it was only a matter of minutes.

For a few minutes, Lili received no answer to her question as her brother riffled through the papers that cluttered his desk. He seemed to be deep in thought, eyebrows drawn into a frown and the corners of his lips turned downwards in a grimace of disgust at the written words before his eyes. She waited nervously, fingers twisting the material of her dress as she wondered what would become of this situation.

Suddenly, the papers fell harshly onto the desk, the unexpected (though not foreign) display of temper making her jump. Before she could have a chance to ask what was wrong, Vash gestured to the cushioned chair opposite his. **/"Please, sit down,"/** was what he asked of her, and Lili nodded, swiftly obeying as she made herself comfortable on the soft material. Unable to help herself, she found her eyes straying to the copies of newspapers that littered the carpeted floor from Vash's outburst. What she read from the large, attention-grabbing headlines froze the breath in her throat.

From the file cabinet behind his desk, Vash had retrieved an orange folder, and he stood staring at it for a few moments, hesitating still. Lili could understand. If what her glimpse at the scattered papers had told her was more than just a cruel joke, she would not be wishing to hand out such information either. The file was then offered to her, and, trembling slightly, she uncurled her fingers and took it in her hands. It was a large compilation of information (which she assumed Vash had compulsively gathered), labeled at the top with a barely noticeable 'Z.'

The sound of the television coming to life had her looking up from the wealth (and what a terrible one!) of facts lying in her palms as her eyes flickered towards the modest screen that occupied the top of a wooden cabinet. She gazed inquiringly at her brother, only to see that his focus was on the blinking images as well, hands grasped tightly behind his back. **/"Listen carefully, read everything, examine the pictures... everything until you understand, Liechtenstein."/**

The grimness, the defeat in his voice scared her, and she felt a shiver travel through her body like a jolt of electricity. Her brother who was always capable, confident, on top of it all, seeing him so anxious was doing nothing for her own fear, which coiled in her stomach like some filthy snake. Terrified of the knowledge, yet _needing_ to know it, _all_ of it, she did as her brother told and listened, knuckles white from gripping the orange folder so tightly.

"... in Norway and the United Kingdom. The outbreak has spread south from England, and regions of France have been reported to be infected, though Norway has managed to contain the virus..." A map. Lili recognized it immediately as the place she called her home, areas with a dense infection colored in red (and no doubt that off the map, those cities inevitably were painted in the most _literal_ red), fading to lighter shades of orange and yellow in regions with a smaller infected population. Her eyes widened to see that Norway was covered in an intense, glowing red, as was England, with spots of red, orange, and yellow in Wales, Scotland, Ireland and France.

"... Many countries have closed all borders, while others are working hard to send aid to infected areas..." Images. Pictures of soldiers, undoubtedly guarding the frontiers, arms at the ready. An occasional one of a soldier firing. Corpses littering the streets. Cars, helicopters, people bearing the distinguished sign of the Red Cross. Terrified men, women, children, rushing to their relief. Those who weren't fortunate enough to make it on time.

"... People living in or near an infected area are advised to stay indoors and keep the television and radio on at all times to receive further instructions from their government. Do not venture outside. Do not take unnecessary risks. Remember that once you have been infected by the 'zombie's' bite, there _is no cure_. Scientists are doing all they can to study the virus and to find a vaccine, and governments are pouring their funds into research of this virus which they now call..."

The heavy folder was still laying on her lap. As the anchor rambled on, Lili felt her eyes drawn towards the papers, and as if entranced, she reached out with uncertain fingers to flip open the first page. A report dated twenty-six hours ago on conditions in Norway. She scanned it. '...number of infected persons... quarantined... virus contained...' The next page was another report. This time, it was on the United Kingdom, the time stamp on the top indicating it to have been written at the same time as Norway's. The contents weren't much different.

She flipped to the next page, and the next at an increasing speed. 'Norway, UK, UK, Norway, Norway, Ireland, Sweden, UK, France, United States, Norway, Sweden, Ireland, Finland, Italy, Thailand...' The number of nations that submitted reports gradually increased, intercepted from time to time with more information on Norway's and England's condition. She read, or at least scanned, them all with a single-minded devotion to know the conditions of her fellow nations. The latest report (United States, 14/06/2012, 8:41, just barely an hour ago, she thought) detailed in the grimmest words the 'inevitable fall' of England and Norway, but she couldn't bring herself to read it all, not yet, so she turned the page.

How many more horrors would catch her off guard today? she wondered as an audible gasp made its way past her lips. Paling, trembling even more, she touched a slim finger to the paper.

Pictures. So many of them, and these made the ones she had seen on the television look tame. Unspeakable images of human bodies torn limb from limb, blood and organs spilled about them, eyes wide open and mouths gaping in their last screams of pain and terror. Some of those bodies standing up again, skin and flesh hanging off their bones, stalking the streets for more victims—more _food_.

Another page. She didn't want to, her mind screamed that it was enough, but it was her _duty_, and like her brother said, she had to understand, understand everything even if it drove her mad—

A sprawling body in an anonymous alleyway. Beautiful blond hair matted in blood, bright blue eyes dulled by inevitable fate. (A fate that came too soon for her.) The child was beautiful, even in death, even with her pretty blue dress (to match her bright blue eyes) clotted with dirt and blood, torn, a shoe missing, but thank god, it looked like there were no bite marks, and—

Lili pressed a hand to her mouth. She felt sick, and her cheeks were wet. 'Stop. It's enough, it's enough,' she begged, but she argued that she had to see it all in order to _understand_, so she plowed on. Reports, newspaper clippings, pictures, she unveiled them all with shaking fingers and absorbed them through tear-blurred eyes, and she never once made a sound.

Finally, she struck orange again. She sat staring at the folder, not knowing how much time had passed, not _caring_, oblivious to the fact that the TV had long been turned off, trying to erase all the information replaying in her head and simultaneously trying to engrave them in her mind. She felt confused, lost, desolate (that child, that _beautiful_ child), and she needed someone, _someone._

Her lips moved without making a sound (that poor child, dying alone in an alleyway and no one will ever know her, and who will bring her back her missing shoe? Nononono, not there please, don't go there, someone, _anyone_—). She tried again. "Vash?" And thank God, the feeling of that name on her tongue brought her some immediate comfort as her eyes darted around the room to finally land on that familiar figure. "Vash—" her voice cracked, unuttered sobs clogging her throat. "This—it's all really happening, isn't it?"

Last chance. Last chance to deny it all, to say what they both wished was true, God, it's your last chance to take back this cruel, _cruel_ joke you've played on me and that poor little girl. Tell me it's a lie, an elaborate ruse, and I wouldn't care as long as that beautiful child isn't dead, as long as, as long as...

The static pixels reflected within Vash's glassy eyes. The same broadcast that had been shown worldwide; the same broadcast that had been playing in an endless loop; the same broadcast that Switzerland had tried hopelessly to hide away from his sister country. To see his plans crushed by his own will gave him a sense of relief overall. However, a defeated state still lingered within the sub-conscious of his selfishness. He wanted to keep Liechtenstein away from this… but that was impossible.

Switzerland's fingers would fidget instinctively. His body was a rock upon the times that the anchor had brought up the disturbing pictures and equally disturbing information. His eyes trailed to the left, content to some extent that Lili had gone an impressive amount into the documents in the short twenty minutes. The items' affect onto the small country began to break through; Liechtenstein's small lips began to quiver, and her eyes were a strange blend of confusion, determination, and desperation. Each piece of emotion on Liechtenstein intensified with each new revelation. Vash avoided the path that led to Lili—it was painful seeing his little sister in despair.

**/"Vash—"/**

The pain in her voice stuck through him like a Belarusian knife. A sharp breath expelled from his lips on impact, but he blinked and passed it off as a sign of acknowledgment. None of this pain would be inflicted if he had presented this to his own people, he thought. Yet, why was it so hard to accept Liechtenstein's new intake of information?

**/"This—it's all really happening, isn't it?"/**

The recording clicked from the English broadcast onto the German broadcast, which evidently covered the same issues. A breath was slowly and silently exhaled. He straightened out his back and closed his eyes for only an instant. A whispered "Yes" came after a stiff nod.

The hardest part had been conquered. Both countries would have to endure the mental stress that was thrashed upon them. However, this side-effect must be quickly overcome as well. Enough time had already been wasted, and now nothing could have been done to help England at this point. The next course of action must be determined before the Zombies broke through France's borders and into Switzerland territory. It would take more than a few rounds to scare off these _things_; this was far from streaking Italians. "This is it… There is nothing more to it." Liechtenstein would have her precious seconds to decide her own feelings, but in the end she would support him, as she said. Once her limited time was up, Vash pressed her, "...What will you do now?"

Not-so-familiar sounds were replaced with more familiar ones as the channel on the TV was changed, but the meaning of the words were roughly the same. 'Invasion... zombies... remain indoors... don't panic'—she had heard it all in the first broadcast shown to her, the unbelievable reality of the occurrence hitting her like a sledgehammer. And perhaps if it had been anyone other than her beloved brother, other than kind, reliable _Vash_, she would not have believed it. His whispered 'yes' was all she needed to accept these 'zombies,' this 'apocalypse,' the death of that little girl.

Her own nod came in response, facial features relaxing from the former expression contorted in despair. She thought she understood a little now—maybe not completely, because there was still a queasy feeling in her gut, and her head was still reeling with images of a pretty blue dress—but, yes... This is truly happening, and she and Vash was fighting this war no matter how much she wished they weren't. She would learn to live with it, or not at all.

The small country had resolve, there was no question about it. It was the only thing that had pulled her through years of poverty, and she had been rewarded by a brief period of peace that was all too short-lived. But it was enough. Eating in relative silence with Vash in the mornings, sitting by him with her head resting on his shoulder, cooking for him, sewing for him, laughing with him—those moments held enough happiness to last her a lifetime of despair, so it was time she stopped being selfish and lived up to her status as a country.

**/"...What will you do now?"/** he asked. She wanted to tell him that they could turn their backs on the rest of the world, and perhaps out of some miracle, their neutrality would apply to _this_ war as well, so let's continue our peaceful existence and forget about everything outside of us... But she would not say that, because what a selfish, filthy thing to say, and she refused to become something like _that_—

What _would_ she do then? She swallowed, biting her lip as she thought. What would she do as England and Norway fought on (_if_ they still fought)? What could she say to keep her people from falling into chaos? What was it that she would now put her life on the line to protect? As a country, that was easy enough to answer. She would keep her people safe, because that was what she had been born to do, and Vash's as well, because that would be expected of her... But most importantly, regardless of her duty as a nation, regardless of putting her _life_ on the line (because she would put so much more), regardless of the world (even if it included herself), she would keep him safe, because there was nothing more precious to her.

Those thoughts were not voiced, because she knew that her brother would worry, and he had enough to be worried about without adding her well-being into the mix. For the moment, she would stay by his side, and she would observe, so she wasn't lying when she set the heavy folder aside and stood, she wasn't lying when she turned to him and told him in an unwavering voice, "I promised you, Bruder, that I would follow you. That hasn't changed," because yes, she would follow him, she would follow him until the end of time, but she would also protect him, do whatever she could in her small body, because she would not allow him to become a country mentioned only in memories.

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**Hope you enjoyed it! Please review!**


	15. Too Many Last Chances

**AN: Yea! new chapter again! I'm updating quickly because my favorite fanfics haven't been updated for a while, and I thought I'd give you all a treat. Ahaha~ Enjoy this chapter. None of you have actually tried guessing who I write for, so I guess I'll just tell you. I, Miniflip999, write for the characters: England, Thailand, and the soon to be appearing Japan! :D**

**All the other characters' parts are written by my fellow writers!**

**Disclaimer: I'm on a roll! We don't own Hetalia.**

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"Zombies…. There everywhere…." Antarctica said, her voice all shaky. France had charged out there to protect her, no not just her, he was protecting his friends and every one whose boarders touched his.

An engine was heard in the distance and a motorcycle appeared in the distance. On it was an albino and another man behind him. They must've been reinforcements.

Alyssa looked at her side were a gun laid on a table. "Should I go help him or stay inside?" she asked herself as her hand slowly made its way over to the gun.

She picked it up and took a step outside, the smell of the dead riding on the wind hitting her in the face. She ignored it and shot into the crowd of rotting corpses.

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Prussia continued on, making his way past all the rotting corpses. The only sounds were gunshots, ringing in his ears as he ran, Austria following, and the horrible sound of bones crunching, moans of the dead, thuds... Everywhere, the people were silent, only the dead made sounds. Concerned with Roderich keeping up, Gilbert slowed down, coming closer to the Frenchman. Blood was covering him, head to toe, and it was difficult to tell his blood from the blood of his sword's victims. "Francis! We need to get to a safe house! I don't know if you're hurt or not... But we need to treat you if you are!" Prussia yelled, even though it was useless. If France had been scratched by a zombie...

He was done for.

"Prussia. Why are you here? I don't need any help!" the Frenchman scowled, fire burning in his eyes.

It wasn't like him at all, he was always a weak country, never really useful in fights, but today, today it was different. He was fighting for England, who was about to die. He was fighting for all the bordering countries, for if he didn't contain the Zombies, they would be next.

"Get Austria and leave. Maybe I want to die here."

Glaring, Prussia continued on, ramming the signpost into a nearby zombie. "You need help! You can't do this on your own. You were always weak, and now you need help. That's something you never had. Now come on! We have to get to a safe house!"

He knew his attempts to convince the Frenchman would fall upon deaf ears, but it was worth a try. As for Austria... That guy wouldn't have been able to help himself, so Prussia decided it would be best for him to get over his fear of the undead, and do something useful. This invasion was spreading quickly already, nothing could stop it; only hinder it.

Another moan of the undead, and Gilbert swatted it away like a fly.

"I don't need help! I know I'm going to die and I don't care if I do! I know that if I do die, then I can be with England!" France said, shooting the head of a zombie as another bit him on the shoulder. "Now go! Just take Austria and run!"

"Damn it, France! You think we're just going to turn around and leave you there? In case you hadn't noticed, it's not like we can go anywhere either, and I for one am not going to turn tail and run away after mustering up the courage to come and save your ass!"

Austria shouted angrily at the Frenchman, still following Prussia as they waded through the zombies. Pausing to shoot another of the monsters, he then continued. "Did you know that my worst fear in life just _happens_ to be zombies? How does that make you feel, eh? We came here to save you from these fucking zombies that haunt my nightmares, and you're telling me to just run? Are you insane?"

They were just a few meters away from France now, and Austria shoved his way past Prussia and grabbed the front of France's shirt, shaking him. "We're helping you out whether you like it or not, Francis, 'cause either we're all dying or we're all surviving!"

Prussia continued slamming the signpost into zombies, all the while keeping his eyes on Austria and France. If any of the undead came close to his acquaintances, they would face a sign to the head. "France! We really can't deal with this right now! You have to come with us to a safe house so you can at least survive longer, and _not _get eaten up by these fucking zombies!" Another swing to the enemy; another head rolling.

"I don't know about you, but coming over here to save your ass from zombies wasn't the ideal thing for me to do today, but hell if I have to, I have to do what's right!

"I haven't been that good of a friend, but faced with situations like this..." Another zombie run down, as Prussia began crying slightly, but fought back a full waterworks show as he continued on with his speech.

"I'LL DO WHAT I CAN TO SAVE THE PEOPLE I LOVE!"

Austria let go of France to blast another zombie coming their way. "Please, France, please understand." On the contrary to his previous yelling, the musician was almost whispering now. "Both of us came to save you knowing that it was unlikely we'd get out of here with our lives. We can't just leave because you told us to, after coming all this way. Please understand that, Francis."

He could feel tears streaming down his face again as well, but he had no time to wipe them away, and so he let them fall. He looked at Gilbert, watching as the ex-nation swung the signpost around repeatedly, knocking down multiple enemies in one blow. But as the albino turned, Austria could see his face; see the red rims under his eyes and the tears on his cheeks. And Austria smiled sadly to himself, knowing this might be the end.

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England turned yet another corner with the small girl on his back. 'Dammit. Those things are everywhere. At this rate, we'll never get out,' he thought to himself. The sound of a helicopter caught his attention, and he stopped running and turned to look in the direction of the sound. Three helicopters were making their way across the sky. Dawn had come a little while ago, and now there was enough light to see. He recognized the helicopters as the Thai Royal Air Force.

Arthur gaped. Thailand was here too? If Thailand was here, that would mean America was possibly here too! England walked out into the open, watching the choppers. He looked at the girl over his shoulder. "We're going to get you out of here, alright? I've found some help."

The girl just nodded. England took out his cell phone and turned it on. He had it off to avoid being tracked. He immediately dialed America's number.

Arthur continued to watch the choppers as they got steadily closer; the sky getting brighter. He sighed. A day since this had all started, and Norway was most likely dead. 'And I'll most likely be dead by the end of today as well,' he thought. England bit his lip. His messy blond hair shone as the sun's rays caressed the golden locks. It seemed all so peaceful when he looked up at the sky. But when he looked back at the field in front of him, a shiver passed through him. He listened intently as the phone continued to ring, the small child still clinging to his back, frightened.

* * *

The British soldiers scurried all over the place like a colony of panicked ants. America hadn't seen them this worked up since WWII- although the similarity inn behavior was probably due to the fact that this was a World War III.

Bosses from the countries who weren't dreading over the recent Zombie infestation in their nation and bosses from countries who weren't bordering the infected countries (excluding Switzerland's boss, for some reason) were called together for an emergency meeting via video chat, seeing that if they had left their country their people would spiral into a pit of chaos.

Someone who attended as well was Norway's boss, though he wasn't Norway's boss anymore. He was hidden away in one of the Baltic state's, he said, and that the young Norwegian representative was declared 'missing in action.' They wanted to believe as much as the former boss that Norway was still alive somewhere. He asked for assistance to help find Norway once the Zombies died down, but Russia's boss slapped him across the face with a cold reality. A heated debate took place, to say the least, and a dishonored finger pointed at America's boss. 'Mr. Jones was supposed to save Norway.'

In other news, fighter pilots from America, Sweden, Germany, Netherlands, and Denmark were sent over to bomb the wasteland formerly known as Norway and dead zones in the United Kingdom. Francis seemed to be holding his own with the support of armies from Spain, Italy, Germany, and Belgium. The same couldn't be said for England. Cellphone in hand, America hesitated to call his father country. Zombies were attracted to sound; what if this call gave away Arthur's hiding place and ended his life? Alfred would be responsible for two deaths.

The caller ID's identification dissolved any thought in America's mind.

"England! Thank god, you're still alive!" He choked back any tears of joy that would seep through his eyeballs. It was too soon. "Are you okay? Where are you? Thailand's here with more backup, Iggy. Just hang on for a little longer!"

England was relieved when he heard America's voice on the other line. 'So Thailand is here with more backup, eh?' he thought. He was staring up at the three helicopters once more. So he had been right; those were Thailand's. "Listen closely, America," Arthur started to say. "I'm outside the city of Liverpool right now. I have a little child with me that I found and rescued. I need you to tell Thailand to send one of the helicopters our way. And hurry. Those damned zombies are heading towards us right now." His voice sounded tired. England sounded like he had given up hope; like he knew the once beautiful country he called home would disappear, cities and all, including him. Tears started to form at the corners of his eyes.

Liverpool, the home of the Beatles; London, his capital; the national parks he had worked so hard to keep safe; all the history that had been etched into the stone of his country; the beautiful beaches that lined the coast; all would be gone. England hid his tears from the girl on his back. Everything he had worked so hard to achieve; everything that had made him who he was, was vanishing around him. And for the first time, he found he could do nothing about it.

Arthur kept his watch on the helicopters making their way to him. They seemed so far away. England let out an exasperated sigh. He was exhausted. He had been running non-stop until now, trying to keep the horrible fate that had grabbed so many of his citizens from snatching the small child clutching him. 'Please get here. Please hurry,' he pleaded silently to the choppers in the air, forgetting he was talking to Alfred on the phone.

* * *

News of Norway's demise had spread very quickly, to say the least. Unfortunately, it wasn't until now that a certain Nordic island had gotten word of it.

_"We interrupt this program for an emergency broadcast message."_

Iceland sighed. He knew this had to be about the invasion. Needless to say, he was scared. But what he heard next nearly put him into cardiac arrest.

_"We here at channel 5 broadcasting are sorry to say that the Kingdom of Norway has been completely wiped out by the new invasion. Let us all have a moment of silence for our fallen nation."_

No.

No way.

This couldn't be happening. It couldn't.

"N...Norway's...dead?" was all he could manage to say as he picked up the nearest telephone. He needed to know for sure if this was true. "Dammit...pick up already..."

"Halló?" was the only word that came out of the mouth on the other end. Of course. it was her secretary.

"...Ah...Yes, it's...it's me..." Iceland started, trying to keep his usual composure. "Could you please get me on the line with Ms. Sigurðardóttir?"

"I'm sorry, but she isn't in at the moment. May I take a message?"

"…No, that will not be necessary. Þakka þér "

-Click-

Iceland bit his lip as he gently pressed his thumb down on the 'end call' button on his phone. He felt horrible. He knew that he had to find out what had happened for himself, but he was too afraid of the truth of what had happened to his beloved brother Norway. Nevertheless, he reluctantly turned his attention back to his television set, switching the channel to a second generic news station and raising the volume.

Unfortunately, the only information of sorts that he was able to obtain was just the telephone number to call in order to buy a worthless product that nobody would never even need. It was almost as if his country was off in its own little world, completely ignoring the fact that a vast amount of people had died, and, as much as he didn't want to acknowledge it, entire nations were being wiped out. That's when he noticed the channel flick back onto its regularly scheduled news broadcast.

"Welcome back" the newscaster greeted in a particularly somber tone, catching the Icelander's attention almost immediately. Was he finally going to get the answers that he was desperately searching for? The only thing that the younger Nordic could do was keep his eyes locked on the screen in front of him and hope for the best. Sadly, however, he knew that no news at all would be the best news to get.

* * *

The snow beneath her boots cleared the way for Belarus. Her piercing eyes slashed through anyone who dared lay eyes upon her (this was a light treatment, since these were Russia's people). However, through her viciously intimidating structure, she was glad to be marching towards Ivan's house. A small smile played along the tips of Natalya's lips, hidden beneath a high-rise collar of her long tailed coat.

She arrived at her destination. The familiar sight was pleasing, and she felt overwhelmed with the thought of seeing her precious, _precious_ brother again.

Her bony knuckles tapped the large door. "Braht, it's Natalya. I've come to visit." It was pointless to continue with this whole "knocking" thing. Belarus only did it upon earlier request of her brother, who felt bothered (for some strange reason) that she would barge into his home unannounced. Half of his request was dealt with, and that seemed to be more than enough.

Belarus proceeded to go to her usual business and kicked the weak hinged door open. It collided with the interior and caused a few of the matryoshka dolls to fall onto the floor with a tiny tap. "Oh brother... Brother, where are you? Why don't you come down and greet your dear sister? Braht?" She kicked the already bruised matryoshka dolls away; all except the one that was custom made to resemble Ivan. Belarus wrapped her long fingers around the item delicately to place a loving kiss upon the wooden head, before returning it to its proper position.

Silently, Natalya made her way up the large staircase, where she would find her long desired Ivan huddled away in his office. She walked in, a few loose snowflakes hovering away from the top of her head and dissolving into the carpet floor.

"Ah, there are you are, brother. I was beginning to think that you didn't want me here." Her loving smile clashed immensely with her devious eyes.

A light tapping on the front door caught Russia's attention. He didn't think anything of it though. "It's probably just the wind" he thought out loud before continuing on with his work.

The loud bang of the wooden door hitting the wall startled him. 'Oh no Belarus is here' he thought, hoping she wouldn't find him.

Ivan turned around and stared at the door to his office, waiting for the doorknob to turn, and it did.

"Why would you think that? You're always welcome in my home…" Ivan said, his usual fake smile on his face. "As long as you knock first."

Belarus deepened her glare, her only response being a teasing "Hm, of course, braht." The wicked smile that graced her face soon left as she stripped off her heavy coat and tossed it off onto one of the couches stationed permanently in the room. Her heels twisted the strands of cotton carpet as she paced slowly around the outskirts of Russia's large desk.

"Brother, I'm sure you're well informed on this... 'Zombie' business." The English word flickered off her tongue in disgust. "Silly, isn't it?"

She halted her stroll in front of a new sunflower resting in a polished urn. Natalya's sharp fingers nearly ripped the large, yellow petal into shreds as she rubbed it between her index and her thumb. A petite tag was attached: _From Ukraine_ it read, ending with a scribbled heart. Belarus turned to face her brother, her eyes colder than before.

"Yes, I am well informed about it. But I don't think much about it," Ivan said as he stood up. As he did Belarus and ripped apart a sunflower that Ukraine had sent him. He felt like scolding his little sister, but he just brushed the thought away.

"I hope you are not wasting your time helping those pitiful countries."

Natalya paced back and forth in front of the Russian, a sharp glare on her face.

"Well, all I did was warn some of the smaller nations, that's all." Ivan's face showed no emotion on it as he walked over to the window, watching the snowflakes fall to the ground below. "And hopefully, they can stop these said 'zombies' from getting here… But I don't count on it."

"Hmph." Natalya's crossed her arms. She stared at her reflection in the arched window before her eyes flickered over to Ivan's reflection. "Only people as idiotic as them would let those /things/ stay long enough to make their way to our house."

She closed her eyes. "Really... sending hundreds and thousands of soldiers in an instant. Just to shove those men and women into the battlefield like that. Might as well tie them up and throw them out into the Arctic, hm?" Belarus chuckled darkly. "Idiots. All of them."

A line of silence crossed the room. They both stared out into the white streets that was to behold through the frosted glass.

"... I am glad that you are not getting involved in this waste, braht. If we're lucky, this infection will kill off all those good for nothing countries, yes?"

"But what if after all those countries die the zombies come after us? Then what will we do?" Ivan replied back to his sister. "We could possibly be next. What will we do once the zombies reach our home?" he turned his head and glared in Natalya's direction

"You should really think these things through Natalya. If you don't think then you could be in deep trouble," he warned before walking back over to his desk to search through his many papers.

Belarus felt her chest twist as her brother scolded her on such trivial things. She scowled. The teeth behind her lips pressed together tightly. Her thin fingers curled and uncurled, in an attempt to suppress her horrible temper. 'Russia knows best', she thought to herself.

"...Yes, brother." The words passed out small and whispered, almost hissing its way through her lips. "What do you plan to do, may I ask?" The question was unintentionally harsh, coming out on her animistic instinct to take out revenge on anyone.

"What do I plan to do? Well, for now, I'm just going to sit back and watch, maybe give some support to a few allies, but I haven't decided yet," Russia replied as he pulled a paper out of the folder on his desk. It was an update about the zombie invasion. "It looks like Norway has died already. Which leaves England and France as the only infected countries for the moment."

Belarus kept her stony stare upon the side of Russia's snow white locks. The impassive nod she gave conflicted with her inner thoughts.

'Why wasn't I informed earlier? The report should have been sent to my phone... That secretary of mine really _is_ mentally challenged, isn't she?'

Another infamous scowl was slapped across her face. She turned her head for an instant, silently chastising herself to save that issue for later. The room itself remained under locked silence, the two countries contemplating what their next words would be, what their next actions would be.

"Braht..." The ice in Natalya's eyes melted away, leaving only a frost. "Please do what you feel is proper. I will do what I can to support you and your choices, despite my earlier position."

Ivan shuffled the papers back into the folder and placed it back in his desk. "Well, for now, I'm just going to watch. If the other countries really need my help, then I may help... it just depends on what they're willing to give up." A smirk appeared on the Russian's face as he walked back over to the window, staring at the many snowflakes that fell to the ground.

"What would you do if the Zombies infected your home Natalya?" Russia asked, a slight smile on his face. "Or what would you do if I got infected with the zombies?"

The impassive Belarusian continued to stare out the frosty window frame. The streets weren't bustling and lively like that of New York or Tokyo, but Russia's Moscow held a calming air that brought Natalya back every so often.

She remained silent. The warm glare from her brother soothed her tense body. From where she stood, her eyes welded onto the same intersection far beyond Ivan's gate, a returning smile trickled down.

"Kill them, of course. Every last one of them." Natalya pause. Her blue orbs jumped from one drifting snowflake to another. "If it is for my country, or for my braht... That is what I will do."

"But what if it was too late for me? What if these zombies had already gotten to me?" Ivan questioned as a smile appeared on his face. The wind outside seemed to pick up and the snow seemed to get heavier. "What if I... died?"

Belarus flinched. The arms folded across her chest tightened, her fingers squeezed slightly into the heavy fabric clothing her body. Natalya rotated her head slightly, hoping to leave no evidence of her furiously scowling face. Not once in her life had she considered the idea of her brother actually _dying_.

"Braht," she mumbled. Another pause settled in once she noticed the absurd weakness in her voice. "There is no point in 'theoretically speaking' if it will never happen. Don't waste your breath, dear brother." She would refuse no other comment after her retort. Belarus stomped across the room to reclaim her coat.

"Please don't do anything rash." Natalya weaved the small buttons together, the fur-lined insides of the clothing settling against her marble skin. Her hand strangled Ivan's large fingers. An all too familiar look returned to her sharp features; a desperate love.

"Even if the whole world is in ashes... as long as you are alive I will be content. Do not lose sleep, brother. I will work hard." With a final choke to her brother's hand, she turned to leave the vicinity. Her brother's presence was eden to the young girl, however, her fear of another one of Ivan's cruel words left her boots littered with Russian snow with each step.

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**Please review! :D Pretty please?**


	16. Just a Joke

**AN: Yea! This is my Christmas Eve present to all of you! So I'm giving you this chapter! :D Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Woo! Remembered it again! We don't own Hetalia. Wish we did though.**

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/"Listen closely, America..."/**

Alfred pressed the cellphone closer to his ear, his eyes widening ever so slightly, ready to jump off a building if Arthur asked.

**/"I'm outside the city of Liverpool right now ...I need you to tell Thailand to send one of the helicopters our way. And hurry..."/**

"Okay, got it." A wry smile passed across America's lips. A flicker of hope shone through his wan blue eyes. He had to save England! "Just hang on a little longer..." He waited for a response, only to find that he had been abandoned on the other end.

"Thailand!" America screamed over the ear ringing propellers. "Arthur's outside of Liverpool! We have to hurry!" It was only until the end of his distress call that Alfred realized the vagueness of Arthur's location. 'Could have been a little more specific, Iggy...' he thought. But it was better than nothing, and the affirmative nod from Thailand relieved America of his worries for the time being.

Thailand could barely make out Alfred's voice over the continuous beating of the propellers. He simply gave an affirmative nod, signaling that he had heard America. He chuckled a bit and said into his headset "Alfred, you have a headset, you know. Did you forget, ana~?" He looked behind him and laughed at America's blank expression.

America blinked, dumbfounded by Thailand's comment. With this Zombie Infection going around, Alfred hardly took notice to the headset snuggled neatly around his ears. He mumbled an embarrassed "Oh…" before fumbling with the device.

Thailand turned his attention back to the controls. He said something to the other pilots that was uncomprehendable to Alfred. Thailand was speaking in his native language, and Alfred didn't understand a word. Thailand spoke into his headset yet again, but to Alfred this time. "Alright. All the helicopters will head over to Arthur's location now, ana~ Did he specify his location, ana~?" Alfred shook his head, and Thailand sighed. "Oh well. I guess he shouldn't be too hard to find, ana~ We really can't miss him, he's probably the only human left in that mess anyway, ana~"

The choppers all changed course and headed towards Liverpool. The carnage wasn't as bad as the neared the now abandoned city. Thailand was actually surprised by the major lack of zombies in the area. He smiled. Arthur had chosen a good location; there weren't as many zombies there. With a trained eye, Thailand scanned the land beneath them, looking for the familiar blond hair. That would be the only way to tell Arthur apart from everything else.

The chopper dipped towards the left in its search efforts for Arthur. Alfred shifted his weight anxiously, waiting for Thailand to twist around his seat to say "We found him, ana~!"

Thailand always kept his temper, America thought. Not once have Alfred seen the grinning Thai turn absolutely ballistic. Perhaps it came from his experience as a buffer state between the hotheaded England and France.

* * *

"Mr. Zwingli?"

The moving pavement slowed to a stop, soon standing at a halt as four wheels smoothed out the cemented earth. A light drizzle marked the window shield. The skin on the man's neck creased when he rotated his head to face his higher; Vash Zwingli.

"We're here."

The weather here, in Finland, was no different from his home. Dark, drizzly, tense; enough to crush the most naive person. The men and women walked with a certain limp, distraught over news of the lack of strength in the Swedish border. The children tapped their toes wearily, distraught over their grieving parents, though Truth was warded off by their protective barrier of innocence. In reality, those little girls and boys looked just as, if not more, miserable as the enlightened. Vash kept his eyes focused on the commotion beyond the car window, half-staring at the outside world and half-staring at his own reflection.

"Mm," he nodded. The door clicked open and he scooted his way out. An umbrella unfurled in the chauffeur's hands to provide a dry shelter for the polite girl who accompanied Vash: Liechtenstein. The trio took their first steps towards the dull, gray building. Switzerland was content that Lilly walked with ease towards the building, ignoring the dots of liquid that eased their way into the cotton of his suit.

The subject of whether to send soldiers or not was to be determined. It seemed as if everyone and their mothers were sending _someone_ to go kill off those Zombies. The problem was that no one knew how to properly rid of these Zombie pests. Sending the young soldiers off to fight was sending them to their death... and rebirth. The only thing that has been recognized was that the Enemy was attracted to sound, and a popular rumor fueled amongst thousands of platoons that said that a head shot was a fatal shot. Secrets of the Zombies were eagerly waiting to be discovered, but everyone was too focused on simply killing them with a shot in the dark. This was why Switzerland undoubtedly voted upon being apart of the other half the battle- war intelligence. Liechtenstein had no oppositions whatsoever.

Back at home, Vash set numbers of officials to the job of overseeing the electrical crisis; in Red Zone areas, the lights had to be kept on at all times to aid the soldiers, since the Zombies possessed the talent of night vision (as they identified it as, for the time being). With a dozen officials from Switzerland's house and three from Liechtenstein's house, the two set out for Finland. A rumor just as allusive as Area 51, it was said that in the very building standing in from of them held Them. Vash pulled quite the number of strings to get into the mysterious Finnish lab. They burned the Zombies, drowned the Zombies, shot the Zombies, froze the Zombies, placed large amount of groups together to test their reaction- every possibility was tested right here. How they were able to get them was out of Vash's understanding, but the Swiss team would receive an answer for that question and many more in only a matter of minutes.

"Thank you." Vash and the chauffeur exchanged mutual nods before the middle aged man jogged back into the safety of the black transportation.

"Liechtenstein." Her large green eyes met his. Her breathed puffed out of her lips into a visible steam. The same girl who promised to stay by his side. "Are you ready? It's not too cold, is it?"

Lili was pulled out of her half-conscious reverie when the car rolled to a stop. She blinked a few times, warding off impending drowsiness, and took in their surroundings from behind the rain-blurred windows of the black vehicle. According to what she had been told by Vash, they were in Finland now, before some sort of... (she gulped, the thought itself gave her shivers) research facility for the undead.

She pressed closer to the cold glass, fingers leaving small prints on the substance and studied the view. The building was in, and of itself, nothing special, she thought as she made out its distorted shape; she probably would not have guessed that this was _the_ building if she had not been shown pictures, and even then, it had taken her a few moments to spot the photographed location.

It was a dull, uninteresting structure, the gray walls and darkened windows drawing no special attention, but then again, that was probably the intention. Even so, its non-descriptness radiated a sense of foreboding, and Lili felt a small shiver rack her body. She did not get a good vibe from this place, but what should she expect from an institution full of undead?

She heard the doors open, and tearing her eyes from the structure, she turned to see that their chauffeur and Vash himself were climbing out of the car. She hurried to catch up, chilled fingers fumbling with her seatbelt and then the latch on her exit, apprehension making her movements clumsy. Finally, she was able to push the door open and was met by the driver holding out an umbrella over her head.

She gave him a small, appreciative smile and took the apparatus in her hands. Now that she was out, with no rain-warped glass to obstruct her view, she could properly survey the place where they now found themselves. It seemed like a commercial district, she thought, with many shops and restaurants lining the block, though many had the lights out and the signs "CLOSED" swinging on small hooks behind their transparent doors.

She recognized the atmosphere to be very much like the one she had been met with during her drive to Vash's house, but here, she noticed, there were more people milling about, though they moved slowly in a sort of desolation-induced trance, heads ducked together and voices hushed, eyes peering nervously at everybody else. She caught the gaze of one of the passer-bys and, flustered, she immediately lowered her sight, gripping the handle of her umbrella a little tighter as she quickened her pace.

Vash had stopped in front of the unremarkable building and he now stood gazing up at it, rain pelting his shoulders as his mind wandered. Lili promptly reached his side and raised her umbrella a little more, so that it covered them both in a protective shield. She wasn't sure if her brother noticed, but when he made no movement forward, she also felt her eyes drawn to the looming shadow of the facility.

Lili didn't have all that much information on what it was this structure contained—she had only received a short briefing before setting out, but by the facts she had gleaned from Vash's explanation, she learned that this was a sort of lab, converted into one to study the zombies as an emergency after the outbreak. Here... here was where all the instructions came from. How to kill them, how to avoid them, how to become one of them...

What would she find in there? she wondered, and it seemed that her mind was all too content to provide her with a dose of horrifying imagery. Were the zombies guarded like prisoners, locked in cells? Kept under sedation? Would she hear them scream when the doors opened? She didn't believe so, but her mind was in a whirlwind of imagination and she couldn't stop it from thinking back to the movies she had watched before—the ones where people screamed in terror in dimly lit rooms while flashes of steel caught what light there was. But these—these were dead, weren't they? They shouldn't be able to scream at all... And even if they did, was she supposed to feel sorry for them?

Unsettled by such thoughts and feeling her throat go dry, she pressed herself close to her brother, another shiver traveling through her body, and he must have noticed this time, because he turned to her, resolution the only emotion she could make out in his eyes. **/"Are you ready? It's not too cold, is it?"/** and she shook her head in denial as she wished she could be just as resolute. She felt as if her will crumbled more the longer they stayed out here, immobile under the rain, and she feared that it would disappear altogether if they did not step through that door in time.

"I—I'm ready, Bruder," she said quietly, and though her voice faltered slightly at the beginning, she was glad that the words came out sounding certain and unafraid. And that was good, because if she had wavered in her answer, the admission of weakness would have killed her courage altogether, but as it was, she felt herself grow a little more confident. She looked up at Vash with a small smile. "Let's go."

* * *

Laughable, the entire matter was. Mei stalked through the halls of her government building, mood dark and hand raised to her mouth to nervously chew at a fingernail. Zombies? They were shitting her. She was no stranger to fantasy, as her collections of manga and video games suggested, but the idea that the undead really walked this earth was ludicrous.

"不可能," she declared out loud, stopping her agitated gait, and drawing a few startled glances from her politicians. "Impossible." Those Europeans had to be playing a trick on them. How was she supposed to believe such an amateur joke? Sure, that _America_ might buy it (he thought _aliens_ existed, for God's sake), but they (East Asia) were smarter than that, and they _totally_ wouldn't be fooled.

There was just one problem. She glared down at the vanilla folder clutched in her hand, ridiculously marked with a 'Z' in thick, black marker. _Japan_ said it was true. Honestly, what right did Kiku have to send a few of his 'specialists' to the 'infected areas' to 'verify the validity of the information,' and then have those 'specialists' return with a 'very thorough report' (which she currently held) about the 'current situation'?

Taiwan thought that his 'specialists' had just been duped. Some of them had gone to _England_ after all, and perhaps the Brit had decided to serve them some of those 'scones' she heard stories about from Kaoru. According to him, one taste could wipe someone's mind cleaner than a blank slate, and Mei didn't doubt him enough to try for herself. She sniffed. How like Europeans to try to brainwash them.

In any case, she thought, resuming her stride, she would phone Kiku and they would sort this out. As much as she would like to call bull on this immediately, her boss had told her that they had seen pictures and films and news recordings and _satellite imaging_ of all things, so either the Europeans were telling the truth or they were _really_ desperate for a laugh at everyone else (and just for the record, she still thought it was the latter).

The door to her office was thrown open and the irritated girl followed suit, folder carelessly tossed onto her desk as she dropped into her comfortable swivel chair. She consented to a moment to calm herself. Temper wasn't doing much other than making her head throb, so she leaned back and allowed her head to press into the soft cushioning. She sighed, eyes closing, bringing her hands up to press against her temples. What a complicated situation.

Mei knew that it was high-time she stopped distrusting the Europeans—at least, that was what she had been told by Kiku. He had said 'the world is changing,' or some bullshit like that, but it wasn't as if she really cared because there was only 'one China' anyway, right? Besides, they liked deciding things too much, she thought, and it was seldom that it was actually in the interest of the Asian countries. She couldn't forget that they had _all_ been played before, and yet they had to rely on the West anyway, because it was powerful while they were not.

So why _shouldn't_ she believe that this wasn't just another joke at their expense? Surely with all the time on their hands the Europeans would become bored, so why not play a prank on the rest of the world? She supposed that she should at least be glad it didn't come in the form of a bomb that they adapted to shape clouds of the words 'just kidding.'

...

Her 'relaxing' session really wasn't doing _shit_ was it? Realizing that her mind insisted she keep her horrible mood, she gave up and reached over her desk for the sticker-covered phone. The table itself was littered with figurines and toys, from action figures to furry cats, and really anything she considered cute. Kiku liked to point out that she shared at least one point in common with Yao (besides the hard-headedness and the love of causing their neighbors trouble, what with their bickering and all), to which she usually retorted that he himself wasn't lacking in rather eccentric tastes. That usually shut him up.

Today, however, she wanted him to talk, and she promised that when he did, she would punch holes in the 'apocalypse' big enough to shove Yong Soo's sibling complex through (okay, so maybe not _that _big). Kiku had obviously missed obvious indicators of bull thanks to his 'good relations' with the West, and who knows, maybe England had managed to sneak _him_ some scones too (Mei'd be damned if she knew how, but you should never underestimate your opponent).

Determined to put an end to this farce as soon as possible, Mei put the receiver to her ear and dialed Kiku's private number. She was _supposed_ to use his work number when calling on official matters (like the apocalypse), but she never did, because, come on, those secretaries were a drag and their Chinese sucked. Not that Kiku's didn't, which was probably why the conversation would always morph into Japanese halfway through. He should be glad that she had paid attention to those Japanese courses he forced her through.

As the phone rang, Mei pulled her legs up to curl beside her body, lounging cat-like on the chair. She secured the phone between her ear and shoulder, and reached out for the pale file on her desk, simultaneously righting one of the figurines it had knocked over. She flipped open the cover and began to study the written reports more carefully. After a few moments, she huffed, pouting. Though she hated to admit it, those Europeans had done a pretty good job—she was having a difficult time finding loopholes.

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**Yea! Review please! :D Those are your presents to us!  
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	17. Not A Hero

**AN: Okay... This chapter... When I was writing for my character, England... God... This has to be one of the saddest chapters there will ever be... To make it worse, I wrote my scenes while listening to the song 'Hero' by Skillet... Not the best idea, though it did make the writing better... I will just use our Tinierme usernames to congratulate Kyarorin and Sociopathy on a job well done typing up this chapter along with me. Excuse me while I go sulk now... *goes to sulk***

**Disclaimer: ...*sulk* We don't own anything... *continues to sulk***

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Thailand continued to look at the land beneath the helicopters, searching intently for any sign of Arthur, any sign he was there. His gaze ran over the seemingly endless stretch of land, covered in certain areas with zombies; mingling together but not interacting; and stopped on two moving figures a few miles away. Thailand could feel impatience radiating of the worried Alfred, aware that the American was waiting anxiously for them to find England.

Static sounded in his ears, fuzzy and a bit sharp, and a voice broke through, speaking rapidly and excitedly in Thai. At first the static was loud, and Thailand couldn't make out what he was saying. The Thai caught pieces of information coming through the static, before it cleared completely and what the other pilot was saying was clear. Thailand listened intently, catching every word the pilot said, hopes rising with each piece of the news. His brown eyes widened and gleamed while the pilot talked, and a beaming smile stretched across his face. He almost couldn't believe his ears.

Thailand looked up at the two helicopters in front of them. They were both ahead, and the furthest one was slowing down to a hover. He looked over at his co-pilot, a young man with short black hair and brown eyes, who was beaming at him. They both chattered excitedly with each other; promptly forgetting Alfred was there; in their native language. After what seemed like forever, when in reality, it was only a few minutes, Thailand remembered that America was in their presence. He turned to face the American, who had a confused expression clearly imprinted on his face.

"We've found Arthur, ana~!"

Those words had never seemed so holy. America's eyes lit up instantly and a hopeful grin penetrated his face as he scurried over to a window. Undoubtedly, there was England. The helicopters hovered closer, and his unruly blond hair came in closer. On his back perched a little girl, not quite as dirty as Arthur, but she came a close second.

The helicopters advanced on England, and soon the Thai soldiers scrambled down the rope ladders and made their way towards the two English civilians. Thailand nodded at Alfred, assuring him that it was time to depart from the helicopter. America returned the sign and adjusted the gun strap around his body. He had a plentiful amount of ammo ready, and he replaced the magazine in his weapon early into his and Thailand's expedition.

Thailand and America slid down the shaky rope ladders. The chilly winds whipped through Alfred's sandy hair, and he pushed his frosty cheeks against the fur lining of his pilot jacket. It was dark. All forms of detail in a person dissolved into the growing darkness. Soon, the sun would rise on the other side of the world, and the only form of illumination would be the spotlights from the helicopters and the faint glow of cities and fires.

"Arthur!"

Alfred jogged to a stop. In this proximity, the two people revealed their true state: two weary bodies, both physically and mentally. The set of eyes meeting America's made him worried. Although filled with despair, a glint of hope shone through the little girl's eyes... what bothered him was that England's eyes stayed the same.

"Thank god, you guys are okay..." He gave a wry smile to the little girl. "It's good to see that you're out of trouble, little miss."

England managed a simple nod in response, much too tired to say anything at the moment. He desperately needed sleep; he felt like he would pass out any moment. He had small bags under his eyes, and his eyelids were drooping a little over his emotionless eyes. The girl greeted America, relieved. Arthur wordlessly handed the girl to one of the Thai soldiers and nodded at him. The soldier got the message, and started to make his way to one of the ladders hanging out from the helicopters. England glanced behind his shoulder, past Alfred, and narrowed his eyes. They widened slightly when he saw what was slowly heading towards the small group. Zombies. They were being attracted by the sound of the helicopters. Damn.

Thailand seemed to notice as well. He beckoned to everyone to head to the ladders and climb up them. Thailand went first, nimbly and easily scurrying up the shaky ladder. He stopped and looked down over his shoulder to make sure the American and the Brit were following him. "Hurry up, ana. We need to get out of here."

A sudden shriek pierced the darkening day. England had just started climbing up the ladder and his head whipped around to the direction of the scream. The zombies had caught up, and one had managed to grab the little girl's foot as she was being carried up the ladder. The Thai soldier struggled to get the girl away from the zombie, but he couldn't hold on.

"Please! Help me!" the little girl cried out, tears flowing from her eyes.

"NO!" Arthur yelled out desperately. His eyes went ablaze with anger and hate.

Arthur, without thinking, quickly jumped off the ladder, despite Alfred's protests, and drew his sword, slicing the zombie cleanly in half. "Go!" he yelled to the Thai soldier holding the girl. England turned back to the zombies; his emerald green gaze now filled with fury, and began hacking the zombies with his sword once more. A scowl decorated his face and his eyes burned with passionate hate. He hated those damned zombies, he hated the cruel world, and most of all, he hated himself for starting this whole mess in the first place.

"Follow him, ana!" Thailand yelled desperately to Alfred, who was still low enough on the ladder to help the Englishman.

Arthur dashed out of the mass of zombies; who were too mindless to notice him making an escape, and managed to make his way to the top of a hill without anything following him. He looked back at the helicopters. Everyone had managed to make it up safely, but he saw Alfred running towards him. Why didn't that git go up with everyone else?

Arthur took some heavy, shaky breaths, trying to calm his rapid breathing and slightly hoping that maybe, just maybe, the world would calm along with him, and the world would be at peace once more. But he knew better.

Once Alfred had caught up, he didn't turn around right away, trying to decide whether to greet him and beg for help, or scold him for following. When he made his decision and turned around, he never got the chance to say anything. A soldier, a British soldier, was standing a few meters to the right, blood seeping from a wound on his neck, sword firmly in grip; infected but still human for the time being. The man raised a finger accusingly at England.

"This is all _your_ fault, bastard! B-because of you, my wife and children are _dead_. They've become those- those _horrible_ monsters!" Arthur was taken aback. How had this man guessed it was his fault?

The man gazed at the Englishman, then turned his attention to the American standing across from him. The soldier was lost in blind fury. "You took away my loved ones, so I'll take away yours!" The man charged at Alfred, sword glinting, giving the American no time to dodge.

"No!"

The all too familiar sound of a sword ripping through flesh reached both nations' ears. Warm blood splattered onto Arthur's and Alfred's face and the ground. Searing pain ripped through his chest, dulling almost seconds afterwards. England lowered his gaze to see the blade of the man's sword protruding from his own chest. The British soldier stood still, mouth agape, as if he couldn't believe what he had just done. Almost instantly, the Englishman took the former British soldier's head off with a swift, fluid movement of his sword.

Hands shaking, he slowly brought them to the blade. His trembling fingers closed around the edge, and as carefully as possible, pulled the embedded weapon from his chest, more blood spilling onto the ground. The metallic scent overwhelmed the Brit's senses. Arthur coughed up more blood, the red liquid splattering onto the already blood-soaked soil.

England brought his blurry gaze up to America's, their eyes meeting each other's. Arthur's eyes had already been dull, but had had a gleam. That gleam was slowly dying as his shocking green eyes started to fade into a dull, lifeless green. His once glowing blond locks were dim and limp, no longer retaining the sheen it had once had.

The Englishman collapsed to his knees, becoming too weak to support himself. He could no longer keep his gaze locked with Alfred's, feeling his life ebbing away with each passing second. Arthur could feel himself falling towards the ground and braced himself for impact as best as he could, the darkness already flooding his vision. He wished he could have at least talked with America before this moment.

Everything went black and he was engulfed in darkness.

* * *

Blue. All around, there was a beautiful, lush, blue color reverberating through the open air, filling the sky with its majestic beauty. The color seemed to echo all the way to his eyes, but stopped when it almost reached them. Instead, the blue beckoned him to come over, to join it, to become one with it in body and in mind. Succumbing to temptation, he stepped forward, reaching out a tentative hand in order to feel the blue. As his fingertips met the color, he was immediately filled with a sense of contentedness, and proceeded to move his entire body into the color. He reached his entire arm inside and stepped in himself, forcefully shutting his eyes, not sure as to what he would find inside. As his duller blue eyes opened to take in everything around him, he suddenly felt odd. The bright, radiant blue quickly faded to black, and engulfed the rest of his body in its merciless grasp, sending him into a cold, dark abyss.

Latvia's eyes burst open as he woke with an intense start. The pure whites of his eyes were clearly visible, and must have slightly startled the woman next to him, for she jumped. However, Latvia quickly regained the little composure he had as he noticed what it had been that woke him. The pilot of the plane he was on looked into Latvia's deep blue eyes with her own caramel brown ones. She seemed slightly perturbed by Latvia's behavior, for it was clearly written on her face, but she said nothing of it. Instead, she attempted to carry on with what she had wanted to say when she walked in and found Latvia asleep. "Excuse me, Mr. Latvia," her voice was slightly shaky but the country did not notice. "We've arrived at our destination. You're in England now."

Latvia nodded, a bit embarrassed at what he had made the poor pilot go through earlier. However, although ashamed to admit it, Latvia was actually more worried about himself. He knew that England was an infected region of the world. Anybody who knew any of the countries knew it by now, unless they were being kept ignorant of it, either by choice or by force. Latvia felt terribly for England, and knew that the man's time would soon come once he fully transformed. However, Latvia was still worried about being transformed into one of the foul creatures himself. Latvia let out a small sigh when he stepped off the aircraft and stopped for a moment, admiring the blue around him. It seemed calming, scenic, familiar... Familiar... "Where have I seen this before?" the small country thought to himself, attempting to recall what he had but minutes ago experienced.

However, Latvia pushed that out of his mind for the time being as he admired the vast expanse of blue sky around him. It had occurred to him before, but now he actually had the chance to think about his predicament. He just went to England to help a dying nation make it through his last days of life. He did it without the help of Lithuania and Estonia as well. Although this somehow made him feel lonely, Latvia felt oddly... Nice. He felt independent, confident, sure. He was making his own decisions and no longer desperately needed the aide of his old friends. Also, here, he need not worry about Russia. It took all too much persuading to get away from that monster and be able to see a very old, very sick friend. Although he knew that he would have to return to that once all of this ended, Latvia took in the surrounding landscape, grateful that Russia would not ruin it for him this time.

Suddenly, a car pulled up by him and immediately put an end to Latvia's quiet and peaceful thoughts as he remembered what it was he had come here to accomplish. He had come to pay his respects and comfort a dying friend and to maybe learn how to end this awful epidemic that was beginning to spread like wildfire. He should have been grateful that the disease hadn't gotten to him, and that he was even able to find a pilot brave enough to take him here with all of these horrors going on around them. Taking in all of the cool, clean air he could, Latvia made his way toward the car when the driver's door swung open, revealing a young man. "Are you ready to go, Mr. Latvia?" he asked, walking over to the other side and opening the passenger door. "It's about forty minutes to our destination, sir," he continued. Latvia simply nodded his head.

The driver stepped on the gas pedal but went at a reasonable speed, not too fast, and not too slow. Latvia nodded off as he imagined what life would be like if and when he returned home to his house. Would everyone be dead? Will Russia learn that Latvia is not his property? Could Latvia possibly... die? Although the thought of death and Zombies and disease and decay made Latvia's blood run cold, it could not stop the mundane drive from eventually putting him to sleep. This time, however, Latvia did not dream. He simply slept, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm until the car stopped moving and brought the country back to consciousness. "S-sir…" the driver began, but he need not finish his thought. Latvia saw it. He saw England, cold, lying on the ground, dying. In practically no time, Latvia jumped out through the door and ran to England's side.

* * *

A crunch from the Earth sounded, followed by the sound of dirt being scraped up from their standings. Arthur sprung from the rope ladder to execute the undead soldier lunging at the young girl. England was risking his life once again, but it was understandable; he had worked to so hard to keep the girl out of death's path.

But he didn't stop there. England slashed and diced the mob of Zombies with a level of skill that left Alfred admiring his elder nation. Whereas his movements left the young American in a daze, the sound of blade ripping through dead flesh kicked him in the face with the reality.

**/"Follow him, ana!"/**

By the time Thailand uttered those words, America was already marching through the trail and towards England, his shotgun serving him well as a blunt weapon. "England...!" he gasped, sure that the circumference of his voice didn't reach dead ears. Before the two countries had a chance to communicate, a fuming soldier took courtesy of breaking the ice.

**/""This is all your fault, bastard!"/** the man acclaimed. America was infuriated; and that was an understatement. How dare the soldier accuse Arthur for being the cause for all of this. England was working hard to protect his home! Knowing the Englishman, Alfred waited for England to whip the ungrateful soldier with something along the lines of 'You fucking git!' Seconds flew by, and all that was left on Arthur's face was one that America had least expected: a look of pure guilt. That expression sent Alfred in a warp of new questions and ideas. Why didn't England say anything? If it were him, he would have put that soldier back in his place!

Something suddenly clicked; brain waves were reaching a resonance and an epiphany slowly grudged its way out from America's invisible shell of naivety.

Could it be England had something to do with—

**/"No!"/**

Alfred's mind was in a mush. What was going on? The first thing that came to his senses was England. Nothing out of place... what was out of place was the warm splash that dotted his cheeks, and the serrated piece of metal penetrating Arthur's chest in a gruesome angle. America's fuzzed mind whirled around in circles to deduce what had just happened in the next half second. The soldier looked distraught at the scene, in which Alfred could gravely assume that the sword was meant for his own chest, rather than England's.

Arthur managed to rid the duo of the troublesome soldier before the poor man had a chance to be reborn into a monster. America would have reacted more towards the fountain of spritzing blood from the man's decapitated body if it weren't for England's own blood distracting his eye. Grief, loss, guilt, unheroic... all summed up how pathetic Alfred felt at the moment. He merely stood there while his longtime companion kept a suspended gaze with Alfred. He merely stood there, watching in agonizing misery as the life from his friend's emerald green eyes faded into a depressing nothingness.

"A... Arthur!" was the only thing Alfred managed to choke out before he too, fell to his knees to hold up the Englishman. A tight grip wrapped around his heart. He imagined it the equivalent of if a Zombie ripped open the skin from his chest with their twisted hands, chewed away the rib cage, and squeezed the vital organ with all it could manage without bursting it. Tears flooded erratically from his eye sockets, clutching England close to his body in a last attempt to urge him to wake up from his eternal rest.

"England! E-England...! Wake up, you eyebrow bastard...!" Nothing he did seemed to work. Uncontrollable weeping overtook him. He gasped in the rotten air and sent out enough waterworks to end a drought. When was the last time he had a real conversation with Arthur? Hours ago, when Alfred assured England that he would be alive. Then when was the last time he told his father nation that he loved him? It was hard keeping up with his motto of 'no regrets.' The ongoing jeering at the easy target was fun, but uttering those little words more often would have left both of them satisfied in the end.

A petite shadow appeared. A quick glance through his hair strands revealed it to be Latvia, who was probably the last person America expected to show up. Though he was glad that it was the young boy that had come to see him at his lowest point rather than anyone else. He knew Raivis wouldn't try to detach him from the dying man that he vowed to keep alive. At least, he hoped not. There the trio stood, out in a field with a dying nation. What would happen next would depend solely on Latvia, because Alfred urged himself with blood and tears to dwell in the past, going against all morals he advised himself to follow.

* * *

Thailand watched in sheer horror what was happening from above. His mind couldn't comprehend it all at once. England getting stabbed, England dying, America crying, Latvia coming… The Thai wasn't sure what was happening any more. He thought fast. There was no way the American could get the dying Englishman into the helicopter. So Thailand did the second best thing: he threw down a net, similar to the ones used to fish people out of water.

Thailand's smile was non-existent, tears running down his face, praying that Arthur had somehow survived, and that they would be able to save him. His heart pounded against his ribcage. Part of him wanted to believe that, but another part kept crushing that little bit of hope, smashing it into dust with the cold truth: the wound was fatal. There would be no way he could stay alive long enough to get him help, if he was still alive right now at all.

The net lay flat on the ground, waiting for Alfred to take the dying Englishman to it so they could fly out of this desolate place. The only sign Arthur was still alive somehow being the almost non-existent rise and fall of his chest, and the blood flowing out of the wound.

A net plummeted down to Earth, landing on the bloody ground with a bump. Alfred shivered and gazed unknowingly into the sky for the source of the item. Daylight was fading away, but artificial ones kept Thailand visible. A small gesture towards the net allowed America to understand the fumbling situation once again.

He ripped a loose cloth away from his fallen companion's arm and wrapped it clumsily around the puncture wound, in hope that it would hinder the flow of blood seeping from England's chest. The net's fiber wrapped around Arthur's body delicately. This would be England's last chance; just how many "last chances" did America hold account for? He held an unimpressive record of zero percent success in helping the person who mattered the most- a dying country.

America wasn't a kid anymore. Everything lived and died, a simple rule that the youngest of children would learn. Yet, as he and Raivis paid their silent tributes to the half-dead country, he couldn't help but feel a burning pain with him at the sight. To mourn for the deceased was one thing, but desperately holding onto the past was another. He knew all too well that in doing so would lead to one's ultimate downfall. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

His hands balled into a fist, then released their grip. No matter what would happen, Alfred prompted himself, he would keep moving forward.

Even if Arthur died...

Even if the entire world was against him...

A Thai soldier shouted at him impatiently to get in the helicopter. Alfred merely nodded, though his senses were in a haze. He asked if Raivis would be joining them. Bunches of dirty blond hair stuck out from openings of the net. England's limp body adjusted itself to the net. He looked peaceful; at ease. If only the same could be said about America. If only he had a chance to talk to Arthur, he thought. Just once...

Thailand sighed. It was obvious the American didn't want to leave the Englishman's side. He adjusted his headset; remembering Alfred still had his, and said "If you want, you can be in the net with him. There is plenty of space, ana…" Thailand wiped his tear-stained cheeks with the back of his hand. He would need to tell Japan and every other country. He was scared of the initial reaction would be once all the other countries found out.

What if the other countries lost hope? Tears began to run down his face once more, his eyes red from the amount of crying he had done in the past five minutes or so. Thailand beckoned to Raivis to climb up the ladder and join him in the helicopter.

* * *

America's headset buzzed.

**/"...If you want... you can be in the net with him... There is plenty of space, ana…"/**

He examined the net. Thailand was right; there was enough space for him to fit. Alfred wasn't sure if it'd make England feel comfortable, though, a dark thought said that it wouldn't matter if Arthur was comfortable or not.

Alfred switched on his headset, "Okay, I'll be here then. Thanks, Thailand..." With that said, he pulled the net over so that he would be able to occupy it as well. He adjusted Arthur's body accordingly, careful not to cause him anymore pain. Once settled, knowing glances were exchanged between the Thai and the American.

* * *

Latvia simply stared as America attempted to ease poor England's suffering. The two of them, Alfred and Arthur, seemed so close, just like brothers; loving, caring, trusting, sympathetic brothers. Even though Raivis's tears of sorrow and anguish had begun to dry up and were all but completely gone, simply witnessing this act of pure sibling love was enough to make Raivis's big, gentle eyes glisten sadly once more. However, this time, no more than a single tear managed to escape his grasp and roll timidly down his cheek, which had already turned a sickly pale white. It soon evaporated, though, and escaped into the atmosphere, leaving but a small, dried up trail on the small country's face. "I guess people are like that too," Latvia's mind echoed in its own solidarity, "they leave so quickly, and only leave a painful path of memories." Raivis bit his trembling lip in order to fight the wave of tears that was forming anew.

"Stop," he accidentally uttered aloud, but not much louder than a painstakingly quiet whisper, simply allowing his own phrase to remain inaudible as it faded away into oblivion.

Although Raivis was praying to a Lord which he desperately hoped to exist that Arthur would make it, he had an awful, terrifying feeling somewhere deep down in his stomach that Britain would die here. For some reason, that thought made Latvia shiver. It made the blood in his veins freeze up and chill his entire body, sending goose bumps up and down his arms. Death... Was that the thought that had been scaring him? Of course he was scared of death. Raivis had simply never taken the time to think about it in all seriousness before.

Death had a familiar, chilling ring to it, as though it was meant to strike fear into the very soul of anyone who so much dared utter that word. When Latvia imagined death, he could not help but think of the worst feeling imaginable. And then, what happened after death? Even though Raivis had attempted to convince himself many times that there was indeed an afterlife and that he would be brought back to consciousness, he still could not shake the thought from his mind. Death. Just losing all bodily function and ceasing to exist is what Death inevitably signified for him, and, at the moment, it was too much to bear for him. It was simply too much. And Latvia bit his trembling lower lip harder, until it began to bleed.

The bitter taste of his own blood filled Raivis's own mouth as he watched America climb into the net with England. The two of them seemed so close. Once again, Latvia was reminded of his own predicament. He had only wished that he could have been closer to Arthur. He regretted not speaking to poor England very much. He only wished that he could go back in time and actually, truly, honestly befriend him. Raivis spit out the awful-tasting liquid and wiped the rest of it off of his mouth. Raivis knew that look in Alfred's eye; that sad glisten filled with dying hope and complete and utter loss. It made Latvia's hair stand on edge. So much so that it completely drowned out the noise of the helicopter for a few moments which seemed like long, painstakingly awful millennia for the weak, dependent, easily-shattered country.

Raivis's mind tumbled around in his head as he watched the siblings who were so close to each other, and the pang of sadness continued its way across his head. Why had he never had any siblings? Latvia pondered it for a moment. Yes, he had Estonia, Lithuania, and Russia, but none of them were really like family. He was Russia's slave, and, overall, an international loner. Neither Estonia nor Lithuania truly cared for him. Latvia was simply a tiny little figment of the past. At one time, a nice country, but now, he couldn't do anything. He barely wielded any power at all in the world now, and was depressingly small. Even though he was one of the Baltic countries, the other two barely noticed him, and went about their day as though he were non-existent, completely ignoring him and only leaving him with his own thoughts to occupy himself. Either that or Russia's orders.

However, in the midst of all of Raivis's tumbling thoughts, he was eventually distracted by Thailand's kind voice, which was a little more docile than usual. However, Latvia failed to notice. He only heard Thailand gesturing for him to climb up the rope ladder and be present with the Asian country inside of the helicopter. Latvia did not know what else he could do. What choice did he have? Could he really just go back to his house and pretend like none of this had ever happened? Could he really? "No," Raivis decided in his head. The county looked up at Thailand with his ocean blue eyes which were filled to the brim with tears, and nodded. Grabbing the ladder with a firm grip of his hand, he prepared for his ascent. Raivis took one last look at Arthur and Alfred before making his way up the rope ladder. Latvia eventually made it to the top with some effort and climbed inside of the vehicle.

* * *

Arthur blearily opened his eyes. He was met with the stunning blue gaze of Alfred's. The metallic scent of blood was still heavy, dulling his senses. England could just barely make out the sound of a propeller above his head. He could tell he was no longer on the ground. 'A net?' he wondered.

"A-Alfred…?" He asked uncertainly, almost a whisper. His gaze was still unfocused, and it refused to focus on the American looking at him.

Arthur heard a faint 'Shh…' as he felt Alfred's fingers running through his hair. The Englishman turned his head slightly, gazing through half closed eyes at the ruined land beneath them. As his dull eyes scanned the land, his eyes widened as his gaze stopped to rest on one spot; the beach.

"No… No way…"His words almost slipped past America unheard. The beach was still completely clear, untouched by the terror that rested in the land beyond it. The seas reflected the moonlight and the rays of dawn danced across the water. The waves licked at the shore and the scent of the salty water faintly penetrating the overwhelming stench of blood.

England brought his gaze back to America, looking the younger nation over. The Brit looked into the American's blue eyes. The pain in his chest had disappeared and in its place was a dull ache. Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but a flash of worry in America's eyes stopped him. It was almost like Alfred was begging him to stay quiet, to remain with him a little longer; even if it was just a little.

Arthur reluctantly stayed silent. He knew Alfred didn't want to hear that one word. The word neither of them had used for each other before, because saying it was painful and hearing it was even more so. The word never used, even when America had broken away from England and became independent, because England had been too afraid to say it, and the thought had never occurred to Alfred. The word, that whenever either tried to say it, it would get caught and neither could utter it. It caused too much pain, too much suffering.

England was slipping away once more, and he knew that this time, he would not be waking up again. He struggled to keep his eyes open, fading in and out of consciousness. Breathing was becoming harder, his lungs burning with every breath.

"A-Alfred…" he struggled to get out. "I'm so sorry…" His eyelids began to close, his breathing slowing, all his senses going numb. He sighed heavily, letting his eyes close, darkness overwhelming him.

"Goodbye."

* * *

**...TT_TT *sulk* Please review...**


	18. What You Had Is Gone

**AN: New chapter. Woo~ Thank you all so much for all those who reviewed. It made me feel so much better after that last chapter. I especially want to thank 518ZombiedDreams for the incredible review you gave us. I couldn't believe my eyes when I got the email with the review. I was all: HOLY SHIT, THIS IS LONG! And I thank you for sharing the fact that you cried at the last chapter. That means a lot that you'd tell me. It means it was good, right? Just letting you all know, I cried while writing my section of the chapter. And I made my fellow writers cry, but that isn't the point. And sorry about that cliff-hanger last chapter. Hah... This chapter still has angst, so make sure you have a box of tissues. |D**

**I thought you might all want to know this. We didn't even know there was a book called 'World War Z' until a little after we started writing this. :'D And now for something completely different.**

**Disclaimer: I'm seriously remembering it! Sweet! We don't own Hetalia. Good thing we don't. |D**

* * *

The lining on the net drew close into Arthur's clothes, wrinkling the blood soaked cotton at the edges. Droplets of English blood crusted against Alfred's rosy skin, as well as polka dotting his weary spectacles. England began to stir, curiously making out the obscure scene. Flecks of his dead iris' flickered into a small life. America was overwhelmed with hope; even if it were false, he felt as if he had never been happier in his lifetime living in this lie rather than a dark reality.

Alfred hushed the crippled man as he tried to speak. He adjusted Arthur's wiry, blood-hard strands as the high altitude winds whisked the locks out of place. The cosmos knew of the burdens England had to endure in the Earth's darkest hours, and America wouldn't allow his selfish needs to force another galaxy upon Arthur's half-dead shoulders. Knowing that the other was alive at this moment was enough to ease his throbbing heart.

He felt England's body relax. Arthur's breathing was scratchy and ragged, huffing in amounts airy impurities that scarred the English skies forevermore. The weight of an emerald gaze fell upon anew, fascinated by a holy wonder that fell before England's land. America saw it, too: a beach, pure from all of the world's evils. No blood lapped along the water's edge. No bodies littered the white sands. The thinning scent of salt refreshed his scrambled senses. A smile played along Alfred's cracked lips. England's heavy trials were not wasted; the stretch of sandy coast was proof of that.

There was so much to say, but with little time to spare. Each word Arthur would utter would rip away the little chunk of life he had in him. His selfish needs, Alfred repeated to himself, would be the one to end England's heartbeat.

Words were cheap. Insignificant. Worthless. Alfred murmured these lies to himself to usher himself past the pain. Many times he opened his mouth to talk to his fallen friend once more, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Was it because he was being strong? Or because he was weak? Conflicting thoughts flew into a battle rage; what would he do? Even if it was considered pathetic, Alfred wanted to do nothing more but to confess to England about how sorry he was, and that, _not once_, had he ever hated him, despite past words.

England treaded upon his last moments, but the final glance from Arthur threw Alfred into a realization: England was already dead. It was the works of a hopeful imagination keeping Arthur's corpse in a puppet stance. England knew. Thailand knew. Latvia knew. It was only Alfred who had honestly and truly believed that a miracle would bestow its magic upon them. That is, up until now.

Arthur conjured the last of his strength to utter final farewells to the spirit crushed American. An apology. A good-bye. With his last thoughts passed on, England was able to pass on as well.

Now America understood what jeering nations meant by when they said "America is too optimistic." It created illusions. He had gone so far up with his hopes, only to have the rock face crumble away and crush whatever was left of him. A ten ton boulder smashed through his chest; he gasped. Burning tears flooded his cloudy, blue eyes. Plump droplets were plucked off the tip of his nose and the tip of his chip, falling onto the icing corpse in his grasp. No sums of money nor bottles of magical potions would bring the distinct shine back into the pair of dull eyes.

He trembled uncontrollably as a horrible, ripping sensation clawed through his torso. America suddenly felt as if his insides were reduced to ash. His joints were numb, and a chill rang through his spinal chord. These feelings stayed long after the warmth was exhausted from Arthur's body, and long after he departed from the tangled net.

* * *

Latvia climbed inside of the helicopter which was being driven by Thailand, feeling a bit of vertigo as he looked down from the top of his current perch. It was odd. As Raivis looked down at the scenery which lay before him, he was bombarded by a plethora of new feelings, and old bodily functions. Looking down there, at the ground, from that extreme height was well enough to make Raivis want to vomit, spilling bile all over the lush, beautiful, green countryside of England. The poor little country could even begin to feel his throat fill up with the foul-tasting acid, and Latvia almost gave way. However, Raivis held in his horrible queasiness despite how nauseous the overwhelming height at which he was currently standing made him feel, thinking that it would be extremely rude and disrespectful if he simply decided to vomit all over Arthur's breathtaking home.

However, as he gazed down upon the Earth, Latvia felt even more overwhelmed by the emotions surging through him at the moment. Of course he had been at that height prior to this moment, for he had been on airplanes before, but he had never gazed straight down from a high altitude. Even though the height made him exceptionally sick, it also gave him a strange feeling, one that reminded him of the color blue, one that made him think of childhood stories, one that renewed his determination. As Raivis's blue eyes scanned the countryside, he was able to take in a surprising amount of detail. He could see rolling hills, forests packed with trees, beautiful white clouds above him, and marshes and beautiful blue, reflective lakes below. Those things filled him with a sense of wonder and amazement, but most of all, those features reminded him of something very important, that he was small.

Latvia was small and insignificant. Even though he was a country, he was barely noticed. Against a huge country like Russia, Latvia would not even amount to a single speck of dust. He would crumble before the country's mighty power, easily succumbing to any sort of force which Russia placed on him. Raivis often felt that, if he had not been spared by Russia, Ivan would have easily extinguished poor Raivis's life with one fell swoop of his hand, leaving nothing of Latvia behind, erasing him off the face of the Earth. And why would it matter anyway? It wasn't like Raivis was important. He was such a small country, of course he had never mattered. Not even to his Baltic family. No matter who Latvia turned to, he was either ignored or pitied, and this vast landscape told him just that, that he was an international loner, loved by no one, desired by no one, befriended by no one. He couldn't even save Arthur from his dark and dreary fate. No matter what he did, Latvia was powerless.

Another tear rolled down his cheek, signifying his insignificant existence.

Suddenly, Raivis's indigo eyes caught something in the distance. It was a small little speck, a tiny figure. Latvia looked closer in order to see who it was, but soon discovered that the strange shape was not human. It was a small family of deer some distance away, grazing on some of the blades of green grass lined with dewdrops. This is what instilled Latvia with hope. This is what brought back his will to live. This is what drove him onward to helping the rest of the world. This is what brought back the shimmer of hope in Raivis's eyes. No matter how hopeless things may have seemed, this sight showed Latvia that there was always going to be hope. There was always a chance. There would still be life. Everything was not hopeless. Even if the life was not in human form; if it was merely bacteria and plants and bovine, it would be enough. Crisis was when miracles began to happen. Life would flourish once more; Raivis just knew it.

Raivis fixed his eyes back at Thailand, who was still piloting the aircraft. Even though Latvia's eyes glowed with newfound hope, he dared not smile when Thailand was still in tears. The country's once happy expression, a kind, docile smile, had transformed into that of sorrow. Thailand had always been so intimate and caring and helpful with others. He had always been gentle to those who were shy or needed to understand. And he was nice to those who needed help or guidance. Raivis had never noticed the kindness of the Asian country before, simply choosing to focus on European affairs. Now, however, as Raivis watched Thailand, he realized that Thailand could have been a valuable friend, that he could have helped him when he needed it, that Thailand could be the one to finally care. However, now, the Asian's kind, caring face was soaked with tears, which clearly portrayed his overwhelming anguish. And who could blame him? One of his friends was now dead.

England… was dead… Arthur had died. Britain passed on. His soul went forward while his body stayed behind. He was extinguished. He has ceased to be. Britain had… died. No matter how many times Latvia repeated the phrase to himself; no matter how Raivis rephrased it, the thought still would not worm its way into his mind. Latvia could not bring himself to accept the horrible tragedy which was the bitter truth. No matter how hard he tried, the phrases would not compute. They would get jumbles inside of his mind and refuse to be decoded. "Why?" Latvia said aloud, barely louder than a whisper, "Why can't I just accept it? Why?" Raivis held in his tears this time, his eyes now showing how helpless he truly was, reflecting a vulnerable soul and mind. Latvia knew Arthur was dead. His mind simply did not allow it to be true. Finally, however, the wall which was idealism began to crack under the mighty fist of reason, and, as his mind rang out like a wave, his tears spilled over his eyes once more.

"Stop crying! Stop crying!" he yelled out to himself, frustrated with hopelessness. "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" He did not think that the cold fingers of realization would sting him this harshly, and was easily overwhelmed by its icy touch. Latvia instinctively covered his mouth with his arm, biting into his own soft flesh in order to keep himself from wailing out once again. However, this only made matters worse. His teeth easily sank into his own skin, causing his mouth to be, once again, filled with the awful taste of blood. However, this time Raivis did not spit out the flavor. He did not care anymore. He simply did not care. "Why am I so weak and helpless? Why am I such a stupid whiny child?" Latvia's mind rang out. The thought echoed back with no answer. Raivis was angry with himself. His own frustration with not being able to help Arthur rang out in his voice. His sorrow and anguish for the death of his friend rang out in his tears.

* * *

**Please review! Pretty please?**


	19. Can't Take the Pain

**AN: Sorry for the late update everyone. Finals are coming up, and the teachers decided they were going to cram everything left to learn into two weeks. D| I'm in eighth grade, and finals are not fun at all. It doesn't help I'm taking Spanish 2 and Geometry as well... Oh well. On with the chapter.**

**Disclaimer: We don't own Hetalia. How many times must I say?**

* * *

"France, this is your country, correct?" Shouting once more, he glanced back briefly at the blonde man. "Where's the nearest safe area you know of? We need to get out of their main line of view, if only for a little while!" He shot some more zombies, then reloaded his gun. Damn. He was almost out of bullets. "This is not good," He muttered, reluctantly shooting a few more enemies that were too close to ignore. "Prussia! I need more ammo!"

'Dammit... How can someone as awesome as me cry...' Gilbert thought to himself, knocking out more of the undead.

**/"Prussia! I need more ammo!"/**

Turning, the bag he had hanging off of his shoulder was ripped away, flying through the air over the dead crowd, landing near an abandoned bakery, another wave of zombies making their way from another part of the city. That bag had the ammo in it!

"Fuck! Austria; take the signpost!" he yelled, throwing the signpost at Roderich's feet, then reaching over his shoulder and grabbing the assault rifle he brought from his house, firing off multiple rounds into the bodies of zombies, making his way to the backpack far away from him.

* * *

Nations were crying; nations were crying because of him. But it couldn't be helped; more nations might cry if he died in the middle of the Nation vs. Zombie war.

"You guys are pussies" France snickered. "That's what my friend told me, and she gave me the will to fight, and now look at you guys, crying. Well, you guys are pussies" France gave a few words of encouragement before shooting off a zombie's head as it snuck up on Austria. "Go to my capital. It's the safest place for now; we should get to the Eiffel Tower. Zombies can't climb it."

"Prussia, go get Antarctica. She's in my house; I don't want to leave her alone." France said, before fainting and falling on Austria.

* * *

Austria watched anxiously as he saw the bag with extra bullets go flying and landing near an old building. Crap. They needed that. Picking up the signpost, he lashed out at the new wave of zombies, crushing in their heads.

Then there was a soft thud, and Austria whirled around to find France unconscious on the ground. "Shit." Standing over the Frenchman, Roderich quickly wiped out another group of zombies attacking from behind.

He wanted to call to Gilbert, telling him that the other nation had fainted from exhaustion, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. He didn't want to distract Prussia, for if he did, the zombies might take advantage of this and attack Gilbert.

Frowning and muttering angrily to himself, he continued swinging the signpost around at the monsters, his gun lying at his feet. It was useless if it had no bullets. He was determined to protect France, but he knew that if another new wave of zombies came he wouldn't be able to last like this. And they still needed to get Antarctica. Damn. Damn it all.

When there was a break in the zombies that surged into the area, Austria took his chance. Dropping the signpost, he grabbed the gun and picked up France, making a run for the motorcycle. He hoisted the unconscious man onto the back, then he positioned himself at the handlebars. "... Damn. I've never driven one of these." He muttered. "Ah, well, here goes nothing." The engine roared to life, and Austria sped off towards the Eiffel Tower. "I'll try and grab Antarctica!" He yelled over his shoulder as he passed Prussia. "Just make sure you get the ammo back!"

* * *

Shooting down more zombies, he reached the bag, then ran back through to Austria, where France was unconscious. Feeling the wind pass him by as Austria sped off gave him a feeling of hope, as they had 'saved' France. "Oh well... Now to find a car..." Prussia said, butting a zombie in the head. Luckily, the wave had slowed down, so it was easier to navigate through the streets. He mustered up the courage to run, the stench of dead, decomposing corpses filling his lungs as he ran past zombies. In the distance, what was left of the sunlight glinted off the windshield of a car. Prussia smirked, running faster. 'Damn... I hope they get there in time...'

* * *

Bangs of bullets coming out of the barrels of the guns, the sound of metal hitting rotting carcasses, all these sounds she's never heard before were ringing through Antarctica's ears as she opened the front door of France's house. The rotting carcasses were moving closer and closer to the house by the minute.

The roaring of an engine was heard in the distance and Alyssa looked up to see an unconscious Frenchmen on a motor cycle behind another nation. The motorcycle started moving closer and closer to the house as the Antarctic girl took a step out of the house; gun in hand for if the Zombies came too close.

"I'm over here!" she yelled, waving her hand in the air. A zombie got to close for her comfort and she shot its head off, letting out a little yelp as blood splattered in the air.

Antarctica didn't know if the other nation was a friend or foe but she needed to get out of there. She didn't care what happened as long as she was safe and far away from these dead, rotting corpses.

* * *

Austria concentrated on maneuvering the motorcycle, having never actually driven one before. The wind felt refreshing against his skin, and he felt himself calming down, if only a little.

As he rounded yet another corner, he found a young woman outside of France's home, shooting zombies in the head and giving a small yelp of fright each time one found its target. Speeding up, he drove the motorbike through the crowd of zombies, running them over. Reaching the woman, who he knew was Antarctica; he grabbed her by the waist and seated her behind France.

"Don't worry. I'm on your side," He assured her. They had no time. Quickly revving up the engine once more, he sped off towards the Tower once more. "Look, I know it's hard, but I need you to keep shooting the zombies, okay? We need to make it to the Eiffel Tower."

The motorcycle came to a stop in front of her and she was lifted up onto the bike. She gave another small yelp and relaxed as she was assured he was on her side.

"O-Ok... can I ask your name?" Antarctica asked, her hands and voice shaky as she shot another zombie, its head splattering into different directions.

"My name? Roderich. Republic of Austria." He informed her, realizing she had yet to learn who he was. "I presume you are Antarctica, correct? Now please, I need to concentrate, for I am still working out how to drive this contraption."

Austria weaved through the zombies, noticing there were less of them the closer they got to the tower. They all were heading away from the monument, it seemed. But why...? Oh. Shit.

Prussia!

"Damn..." Austria gritted his teeth, slamming the bike to a halt at the base of the gigantic tower. "Antarctica! Take France and climb high up into the tower! You'll be safe there, okay? Could you give me that gun as well? I've got to go back!"

They suddenly stopped and Antarctica was ordered to take France up to the top of his monument.

"Austria..." France said, slowly coming back to consciousness "Don't die out there"

"Hey France lets go" Alyssa said, slowly dragging the limp Frenchman to the base of the tower and getting him into the elevator. Once at the top they could see the whole city, the capital of France, the beautiful city of Paris, now all in ruins.

France's once beautiful home had been turned into a wreck of fires and dead bodies. His capital was torn to shreds and all his people were suffering. Fire blazed around him and the ashes fell, making it look like it was snowing black snow. The sky was dark, just the light of the fire lighting it up. Not even a single star was in the sky. He was suffering. As the days went on he felt himself getting weaker with every breathe he took. He already knew he was going to die, just like England and Norway probably have.

* * *

Austria raced back through the hordes of zombies, knocking them out of his way. The stench of rotting corpses filled his lungs and nostrils, and the further he drove, the more zombies there seemed to be. Funny enough, they weren't concentrating on Austria, though that was far from reassuring. He knew they were gathering up their forces to take out Prussia. But he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't lose Gilbert, he'd die before he'd let that happen. Forcing his way down the streets of Paris, he could see the zombies all streaming towards one spot, ready to destroy.

After reaching the car - which was a beaten-up old piece-of-junk Camaro - instead of getting in it, Prussia climbed on top of it, mowing down the dead in a rain of bullets. He had no reason to run away now. The zombies were coming from all directions, moaning and groaning, while attempting to get close to the albino. He kept firing until he heard the click of no ammunition, then reached into the bag, pulling out another clip for his gun, loading, then emptying the bullets into the decaying bodies.

One of the only things on his mind was...

'Who's gonna save _me_ just in time?'

* * *

Austria saw it all. Prussia, atop a rusting old automobile, the zombies, surrounding him on all sides. He saw the fire in Gilbert's crimson eyes as he mercilessly slaughtered the undead. His will to survive was incredible, but Roderich knew that the albino couldn't last forever. "Gilbert!" He shouted, wanting the ex-nation to know he was there. "Hold on! Just don't give up! Please..." Austria slammed on the brakes at the hood of the beaten up old car and jumped up beside Prussia, giving him a weary smile. "I'm here, okay? It'll all work out." He pulled out the gun he had taken from Antarctica and began shooting the zombies as well, standing back to back with the one man who meant the world to him.

**

* * *

/"Gilbert!"/**

Hope sprang up in his heart.

**/"Hold on! Just don't give up! Please..."/ **

Will to fight.

A smile spread across his face.

**/"I'm here, okay? It'll all work out."/**

Prussia smirked, then stood back to back with Austria. It meant the world to him. After so long of being alone, then having to fight these monsters alone, it was good to have someone here to help him. Gilbert emptied out the rounds into the horde of corpses, occasionally looking over his shoulder to Roderich, smiling wildly.

It was like a dream almost. Standing here, with Prussia, and shooting zombies, of all things. It was as if in slow motion, and he could here each bullet that whizzed through the air, each noise of flesh tearing as each bullet founds its mark within the rotting skin of the monsters.

But Austria didn't feel afraid anymore. At this point, he could say he felt ashamed of himself for once fearing these creatures. Roderich gripped the gun tighter in his hand, blasting a row of zombies.

He could feel Prussia's back against his, and it was comforting, knowing that the albino was near, and that they were in this together. Whenever he caught a glimpse of Gilbert's face, he could see the other man grinning with excitement, and each time, it gave him renewed strength, and he felt that as long as Prussia was there beside him, they would be able to take down these hideous monsters.

The number of zombies went down progressively.

A few clouds overhead blocked out the sunlight, a sign that something bad was going to happen. But Prussia fought on, with Roderich behind him. It was giving him hope, and a feeling of calm, but a lingering sense of dread was still there...

"Austria... Thank you for helping me..." Prussia said, still smiling.

He knelt down, reaching into the bag and grabbing yet another clip, hitting any zombie left within reach of the butt of his gun.

The two went at the zombies for quite a while, and eventually the crowds of monsters began to thin, and Austria felt a small spark of hope in his chest. He smiled slowly, shooting down a few more zombies, before realizing the need to reload his gun once more. Reaching into the bag, he pulled out the last row of bullets. Staring at them, he slowly reloaded them into the weapon, then stood up to begin fire once more.

But he didn't see that one zombie, that one zombie, a rotting corpse of a small child, a young boy. He was oblivious as it crawled up the side of the car. He was oblivious as it found its way to his feet.

But he felt the pain.

The pain of fangs that thrust into his exposed ankle, for his shoes had been worn through long ago. The pain of the poisoned saliva seeping into his bloodstream, traveling to his heart. The pain as the other zombies jumped on him, taking advantage of his sudden weakness. The pain as he felt more fangs break his skin, on his neck, on his arms. And he knew it was over, and he knew there wasn't anything they could do. And he fell to his knees, unable to stop the screams that tore from his throat, that pierced the air. The screams that drove the zombies away, the shrill noise fatal to their ears. And the blood poured from the wounds, and Roderich fell to the metal hood of the car, breathing in ragged, shallow breaths.

Prussia continued on, fighting with Austria behind him. But then... A horrible sound.

Screams. Screams from the man behind him.

Then many zombies, jumping at him, biting him, ripping flesh away from his body.

Prussia had no idea what to do, other than stand and watch in horror as one of the people he was closest to was being literally _eaten alive_ by zombies. Another shrill scream came up from Austria's body, and the zombies were driven away. One more breath before Roderich hit the hood of the car, and Prussia was left speechless.

He jumped from the top of the car, switching the assult rifle back over his shoulder, and picking up the man bridal style. He ran into the old bakery and locked the doors, jamming it shut with a broom.

The albino sunk to the floor, with Austria in his arms. Tears flooded his eyes, trying to gather up words to say.

"A-Austria... Roderich... Don't worry, you'll be fine..." he choked out, his voice a bit hoarse. He wanted to lie, to make himself feel better...

Austria opened his eyes slowly, painfully. He stared up at Gilbert, glad that the man was there with him.

"No..." he whispered, his voice rough and shaky. "It's okay, Gil... I know I'm not... going to... survive..."

He laughed weakly, gesturing towards the injuries he had sustained. He literally had chunks of flesh missing from his body. He lifted one arm slowly, grimacing at the pain it caused, but he reached his fingers nonetheless to grace Prussia's jawline.

"It's okay, Prussia... It's okay..." He smiled sadly, shaking his head ever so slightly. "I guess it's just my time to leave... I just wish I could play my piano once more..." closing his eyes, he sighed wistfully, before opening them once more.

"But... Gilbert... please... would you? ... Would you... kiss me once more?"

* * *

The wind was only a gentle breeze that blew both of their blond hair. France had finally regained consciousness and was standing close to the edge of the side of his monument.

The Zombies were all heading in one direction- towards Austria and Prussia. And that was the only place they were going.

'What would happen if the Zombies killed them? Then where would they go?' Francis thought, his blue eyes lighting up as he thought.

France… what are we going to do?" Antarctica asked, tears in her eyes as she stared at the ruin, once beautiful, city. "What if they kill Austria and his friend? Then what do we do?"

"I don't know. You'll have to figure that out on your own" the Frenchman said as he hoisted himself up onto the railing of the viewing area, his eyes staring down at the ground far below him. "I won't be in this world for much longer."

"Francis, don't do it!" Alyssa screamed. "Don't jump please…. I don't want to be alone up here, we broke the elevator so no one got up here remember. How am I supposed to get back down?"

"You'll find a way, you got England's smarts anyways" France said, one foot slipping off the edge. He took a deep breath before sliding his other foot over the edge and started free falling to his death. But he was wrong. Antarctica had ran up from behind and grabbed onto his torn up blue coat.

"Francis…." Antarctica said, starting to cry "Please don't die…."

"Let me go!" The Frenchman shouted. "I'll be happy. I'll be able to see Arthur again."

Antarctica froze, and without knowing it, she let go of Francis' coat and he started free falling to his death.

Was England really dead? Did one of her brothers really die?

A loud thud followed by a splat snapped Alyssa out of her thought. Her eyes were closed and she didn't want to look, but she knew she had to. There he was. France. Dead. Lifeless on the ground more than a hundred feet below her own feet. Blood was splattered all around his body.

"FRANCE!" the Antarctic girl scream, tears flooding her eyes. She had just watched helplessly as one of the few nations she kept in touch with died.

"Fuck... What do I do now?" she asked, knowing that no one could help her. She looked around the viewing area and saw a loose metal pole. She pulled it loose and placed it in her mouth as she made her way over the railing and climbed over it.

"I can't believe I'm doing this" she mumbled, taking a deep breath as she started climbing down the tall monument.

About half way through she looked down at France's lifeless body. Some nearby Zombies had moved over and started eating his dead body. As she was distracted, her foot slid on the metal frame of the tower, and she was left hanging 100 feet above the earth.

She finally regained her footing and started back down the Eiffel Tower. Finally reaching the asphalt covering the earth's surface, Alyssa fell to her knees. A metal pole lay within her reach as she took deep breaths.

The moans of the dead where above her. She looked up and screamed, picking up the pole and chucking it at the zombies head. Antarctica stood up and walked over to grab the pole. Taking one last glance at France, she ran off towards the heard of zombies that where gathered in one part of the city.

"France is dead. Austria and Prussia might be dead. I might be the last one left in this country that's not a zombie. I have to find them," Alyssa said, running straight into the herd of the dead. Surprisingly they didn't pay that much attention to her, for they were trying to get into a rundown bakery.

* * *

When Austria opened his eyes, a feeling of happiness flew through him, but it left him quickly. Gilbert's body was literally shaking, he was crying so hard.

**/"It's okay, Gil... I know I'm not... going to... survive..."/**

Prussia managed to chuckle at this as well, still crying. "Austria..." He couldn't think of anything to say, and the soft touch of the others hand wasn't making it any less painful.

The apologies hit him in the heart, stinging in his chest. Prussia wiped away the tears, as they fell from his face onto Roderich. The blood from Austria's wounds stained his clothing, turning the once white shirt a deep red.

**/"But... Gilbert... please... would you? ... Would you... kiss me once more?"/**

Prussia nodded, tears running down his face. He lightly grabbed the side of Austria's face, leaning down to him, and kissing the man softly. The metallic taste of blood hit his tongue, but he didn't care. As long as he got one more kiss from the Austrian, he didn't mind it...

Austria closed his eyes as he felt Gilbert lips meet his own, and he answered back, willing to give all he could into the last embrace he would ever have with the albino. Though he was weak from blood loss, he put all his strength, all his love, all his passion into that last, cherished kiss, and when he pulled away, he smiled through fresh tears. "Gilbert..." He whispered, "Gilbert..."

He leaned up to put one more swift kiss upon the others lips.

Violet eyes shown bright as the met with crimson, and they were warm with love. "Gilbert..."

"Ich liebe dich, mein lieber Preußen, Gilbert Beilschmidt."

He closed his eyes, still smiling, and leaned his head into Prussia's chest.

"Abschied."

And Roderich Edelstein, Republik Österreich, moved no more.

After the kiss was over, tears had begun to slow down, as it calmed him. His lips were smeared with blood, but he was smiling sadly. His name being called was one of the sweetest things Prussia had ever heard, even as he looked into the violet eyes of a friend dying in his arms.

**/"Ich liebe dich, mein lieber Preußen, Gilbert Beilschmidt."/**

The tears flowed again, as Prussia watched Roderich slowly lose what life was left in his body, leaning into his chest, taking a final breath, whispering farewell. And soon enough, Austria stopped moving.

But... He was infected, and Prussia had to do one more thing to make sure he would never run into an undead version of the Austrian.

He needed to shoot him in the head.

Still crying uncontrollably, Prussia reached down to the gun Roderich had carried to help him. One final kiss on the forehead was planted, before Gilbert stood up, and took aim. Sobbing, the shot was fired.

Austria; Roderich... Was no longer in this world.

Bang.

* * *

A gun shot rang through Alyssa's ears and the zombies finally noticed she was there. She started swinging the metal pipe around, knocking the heads off a few zombies.

"PRUSSIA! AUSTRIA! YOU GUYS IN THERE!" Antarctica yelled, hoping they were

Soon after the shot was fired, Prussia gained up the strength the turn around, looking through the glass doors and windows. Antarctica was outside, fighting off zombies, and soon enough a few made their way to the bakery, hitting the glass. Luckily, it didn't break. But the zombies backed off, making their way back to the girl. Prussia wiped the tears and blood off of his face, getting the handgun ready, and running at the door, shattering it. A few zombies closed their attention on him, instead of Antarctica. He began shooting them, running to the girl and picking her up, making his way to a van parked a few blocks from where they were. Getting to it, he put Antarctica down, opening the doors in the back, then turning to the zombies, shooting a few, before getting into the van himself.

"H-Hey Prussia... what are you doing?" Antarctica said as the Albino picked her up. She was soon placed in a van and some zombies followed, but failed in entering it. "Where are we going?" she asked, still a little shaky.

The albino threw his bag into the seat beside him. He still couldn't believe he had to do that to Austria... And he choked up thinking about Roderich's cold, dead eyes staring at him before they closed, the Austrian drifting off to a never-ending sleep.

Prussia looked back at the girl, smirking.

"Well, we have to get out of France..." he said, turning back around. Luck was on his side. The keys were in the ignition.

"Speaking of France... Where is he?

"F-France... well, he, uh..." Alyssa didn't really know how to explain it. Tears started forming in her eyes as she remembered the images of France's body splattered on the ground surrounded by blood. "He killed himself. Jumped off the Eiffel Tower... He's dead."

Whoa.

Dead? By suicide? That's not like Francis. But he was going to die anyways... "I can see why, with his beautiful country in ruins like this."

Prussia sighed, slamming his head into the wheel of the van, groaning. Another friend, dead, and within the same minute, too.

"It can't be help..." he said, turning the key in the ignition, and slamming down on the accelerator, speeding out of the burned country and to Germany.

* * *

**Eh. Another darkish chapter... Review. Oh, and there will be a poll up on my profile as soon as I figure out how to make one. :D Check it out. It'll improve our skills.**


	20. Spreading Wildfire

**AN: Phew! Sorry for the wait everyone! I didn't mean to leave it like that. Its just finals are coming up, and I was sick for three days and left to catch up with everything I had missed. I also got this idea for another story, the first chapter of which is up right now. If any of you are interested, its called "Bow and Arrows." Yea... The plot bunnies kind of took a hold. I'm also finding it hilarious how after I put this story up, multiple other zombie apocalypse stories started popping up. :'D But I was disappointed with the ones I had seen before I bothered putting this up. They were all on certain characters! If its going to be an apocalypse, might as well involve the entire world, y'know?**

**Anyway, sorry for the insane rant. One more thing though. This review by some random reviewer. It made me laugh so hard that I fell out of my chair: "DAMN IT. I WAS GONNA WRITE THIS. BASTARD. But it's better done than mine would probably be."**

**|D I lol'd. Hard. And thank you everyone who has stuck with this story for so long! Yay~ New characters!**

**Oh, and I fixed the poll on my profile. So I'd like you all to look at it again, alright? ;D**

**Disclaimer: ...*looks up* Huh? Oh? You need me to say it again? Alright. We don't own Hetalia.**

* * *

Another meeting. Japan sat silently, listening to his boss discussing the current zombie crises with the other officials in the meeting room. His eyes seemed to be locked on his boss, and he seemed to be paying attention, but in reality, he was letting his mind wander. (It surprised even Japan himself, as he _never_ let his mind wander and _always_ paid attention, especially during something as important as this.) It had been a while since they'd gotten the latest report about the zombie infestation. Thailand had promised to call whenever something new happened.

Japan sighed inwardly. This was becoming more troublesome than he had originally thought. All the countries of the world were in a panic. His eyes wandered back to the large projection of the world at the front of the conference room. On the map, multiple countries were colored various shades; the infected regions. Red marked France, England, Norway, and Austria. Orange marked most of the Scandinavians and spots in the countries by France as well as the rest of the British Isles.

Without meaning to, Kiku's thoughts strayed back to his little brother, who was fighting alongside the American forces. His little brother, the one who had managed to escape being ruled over, the one who hadn't really fought in any wars other than ones with Burma, the little brother who was currently risking his life; Thailand. Kiku thought back to the call he had received earlier that day. A Thai government official had called to let Japan know that, against Japan's orders, Thailand himself had secretly gone with the other two helicopters sent to Norway, taking a third helicopter and a young Thai man who had been on fairly good terms with the smiling country.

He mentally scowled. Japan scolded himself for not seeing that coming. He should have known Thailand would have snuck off like that.

He heard his name called, and Kiku snapped back to attention, eyes locking with his boss. They exchanged a silent message, and his boss nodded. He had known what Japan had been thinking of. Kiku's boss continued to talk, describing the current actions of other countries that had yet to be infected. Just as his boss was explaining their current position in this mess and what they'd do next, Kiku's cell phone started to ring. All eyes turned to him.

"A-ah… Gomenasai…" Japan muttered in apology as he took out his cell phone. Quickly looking at the caller ID, he excused himself and left the room, answering his phone.

"Mei!" he hissed into his cell. "I thought I told you to call my work number. I was in the middle of a meeting! How many times must I tell you not to call my private number during things like this?" Kiku sighed, somewhat annoyed. Really. Of all the times she chooses to call, she calls at that moment. Before Taiwan had a chance to answer, Kiku's phone buzzed again, signaling he had another call.

"Hold on, Taiwan. Thailand is calling me," he said quickly, relieved to know his brother was still alive.

Kiku took the news in silence. He couldn't quite grasp what he had just been told. But the pain and sorrow in Thailand's voice confirmed the truth. And why would Thailand lie to him? After all, the Thai was out on the front lines, fighting alongside America and all those men. "I-I see…" Japan couldn't help it when his voice cracked. Arthur… was dead…? "T-thank you for letting me know… Stay safe, Tai." Japan cut off his call with Thailand and went back to his conversation with Taiwan. Kiku choked up. A dear friend of his, one of his best friends, a long-time friend; dead, gone, just like that… He did his absolute best to compose himself before talking to Mei, but in the end, when he finally spoke, his voice broke.

"T-Taiwan… E-England is dead…"

* * *

_Beep beep beep_. The ringing went on for so long that Mei was starting to wonder whether or not Japan would pick up. Kiku wouldn't be ignoring her on purpose, would he? She pouted, but she didn't think so; that wasn't usually his way. Most often he'd just scold her and sigh and remind her to call him on his work phone and tell her to continue. He really spoiled her sometimes, but then again, she wasn't complaining.

She tapped her painted fingernails against the folder on her lap as she waited for him to answer. Perhaps he was busy, she thought, too occupied buying into this whole 'apocalypse' deal, but she also happened to know that he kept his cell phone on him at all times. Did he turn it off? Mei sighed, on the verge of hanging up. She could try again later, or she'd give his work phone a shot. Maybe he really _was_ ignoring her in an attempt to get her to use the right number—

But before her finger had made it to the halfway mark on its path to the "end call" button, there was a crackling on the other side of the line, and realizing that Kiku had picked up, the girl eagerly moved the apparatus to her ear. **/"Mei!"/** she heard an irritated hiss from the Japanese. Not even a greeting, huh? He must really be stressed. But otherwise, everything went just as she had expected it to. Scolding... How many times have I told you... Don't call my private number, and—

**/"Hold on, Taiwan. Thailand is calling me."/** Mei raised her eyebrows at that. What could _Thailand_ be wanting right now? Sure, relations between those two had always been pretty good, but she didn't think that trade was a priority of discussion with all these apocalypse rumors floating around. Unless _he_ had bought into this entire zombie farce as well. The thought was unfavorable, but plausible. Well shit.

"沒問題," she shrugged. She had all the time in the world on her hands at the moment, with her commanders and personnel checking up on the 'infection' in order to give her an accurate report and whatnot. A trusted admiral of hers was making his way to the 'contaminated areas' with a small group of officers in tow as they spoke.

"No problem. Take the call, Kiku." My, she sounded a bit arrogant even to herself, but—well. To be fair, she was going to bust this joke while everyone else had been too preoccupied running around and shitting themselves to see to utter ridiculousness behind an idea of an insurrection of the dead.

She heard rustling and static as Kiku fumbled with the phone to take Thailand's call, and then her line went quiet. She leaned back in her swivel chair, renewing the study of the papers before her while the man received whatever news he would be hearing from the carefree Thai.

Mei didn't know Thailand all that well—she herself didn't maintain as extensive a relation with the other nation as Japan, but she had seen him on occasion at casual events. Their countries hadn't met officially since 1975, but what the hell? She supposed that would have been unreasonable anyhow, because she wasn't a country in the first place. For nearly three decades, three _wonderful_ decades, she had been, but in the end, China was too important for them to forget.

And Yao wasn't lying when he said he had a rope around her neck.

Her fingers clenched briefly, crinkling the papers, but the sentiment was quickly shaken off. It was unbecoming of her to think of this situation as hopeless. Taiwan was a nation who looked ahead, and Mei would win their independence for her people, for _her_, even if she would have to fight for centuries—fight against those people she neither loved nor hated, because countries forgave and sometimes forgot, even though she could not, _would_ not, do the same.

"..." She sighed again and dragged a hand through her hair. Funny how a few words had thrown her mind completely for a loop. She wouldn't let herself get distracted—get caught up in self-pity because that was weak and she was anything but. She redirected her attention to the file before her, and forced herself to read through the Japanese typing.

Her mind picked and probed at the information, determined to find a flaw, and she was delighted that she was beginning to spot some. '... infection began in Norway and England...' Didn't make sense, she decided, too many differences in environment. Strike one. '...completely overrun in hours...' The infection would have started from a select amount of people, and once government warnings and awareness was up, the disease would spread even slower. It should take weeks to overrun a country, even months. Strike two. '...48 hours later had infected people of France as well...' As she said before, no way. Diseases never traveled that fast, undead or not. And this would travel even slower than others passed through the air. Strike three, and you're out—

**/"T-Taiwan..."/** The shaky voice that sounded from her receiver brought her back to reality. Having been absorbed in her analyzations, Mei didn't notice the stutter in Kiku's voice and opened her mouth to ask what Thailand had wanted. The next words out of his mouth, however, froze her very heart in her chest and stole the breath from her lungs. **/"E-England is dead…"/**

For a moment, the world stopped rotating on its axis, though everything spun before Mei's eyes even as she remained stock-still, eyes open wide and fingers tightening unconsciously around the telephone until her knuckles turned white. It is a joke, she told herself. It was a second part to their 'zombie' ruse. But yet, hearing those words spoken—she couldn't deny that it struck something deep inside of her, because England was a nation too.

_No, no, no._ She rushed to deny it. All of it was a lie—false to the end—and those Europeans, they were pushing it too far, dammit! How dare they play with other nations' emotions as if they were petty dolls! This was ridiculous, beyond ridiculous and simply cruel and she would damned well wring all their necks right now—

"Impossible!" she spat into the phone as she drove a fist into her desk, and fuck, that hurt, but she didn't really care right then because she was seeing red all over, seething mad, and desperate for something to hit, but most of all, quenching that uncertainty she felt nagging from the deepest part of her mind that what if all this was true?

"They are playing us!" Her voice rose several pitches as fury-fueled adrenaline coursed through her veins, tirade pouring out in a rushed mix of Chinese and Japanese. "Don't you see? The apocalypse, zombies, this is all bullshit! It's not damned possible! They must think it's fucking funny to mess with us with all their jokes and wars and territorial claims, and in the end they don't give a shit, because we are powerless against them!" The last few endlessly frustrated words that no doubt every country in Asia had thought at some point or another were punctuated with more slaps to the hard wood of her desk, pens and ornaments cascading to the ground with aggravated noises as they made contact with the floor.

Mei was breathing heavily, eyes shining, lips drawn into a snarl, and sometime during her rant she had stood, fist curling tightly around the smooth plastic of the receiver in a vice-like grip. She was so damn mad, and sick of being used, and tired of trying to lie, and why wouldn't they just _stop_—

Just as suddenly as the surge of energy had overtaken her, it disappeared without a trace, leaving her limp and exhausted as her small frame collapsed back onto her chair. She was frightened now. The anger had gone, and that was what had been keeping her from breaking—from contemplating the possibility that this was all true. **/England is dead./** The words rang hollowly in her ears, and she suddenly felt small and terrified. She pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapped pink-clad arms around her knees, forming an awkward and flimsy sort of defensive barrier between her and the world.

Kiku hadn't spoken for a while, and she guessed that he was surprised from her outburst. Either that, or he was waiting for her to calm down. How like him. He knew her so well, and she had to choke back the hysterical laughter bubbling in her throat, but part of it made it past her lips and she gave the strange, gasping laugh of a dying man. Except she was nowhere near dead, and she _would not_, not if she had any say in it. But at the moment, she felt as if she had no option at all.

"It's... impossible," she repeated, forcing the words that lacked their previous conviction out of her dry mouth. 'Not real, not real. I don't _want_ it to be real. Just a joke, please... Like all their bickers and wars and displays of power.' She buried her face in her arms, fingers just barely keeping ahold of the telephone. "Countries..." _we_, "... countries can't die."

Kiku quietly listened to Mei rant, not really listening. He simply waited until the female nation finished speaking. He was still trying to process the dreadful news that had been relayed to him. England… died…? But… countries couldn't… die… Right…? Prussia… When he was no longer a country, he didn't die… Japan bit his lower lip, teeth piercing the thin skin, drawing a red fluid with high viscosity. He immediately released his lower lip from in between his teeth when he tasted the bitter flavor of blood. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he thought about the information that Thailand had given him.

Thailand had sounded distressed; something that almost _never_ happened. And next to that, it had sounded like the Thai had been crying—his voice had been shaky and Japan was sure he had heard his younger brother trying to stifle sobs. It was typical of his little sibling to try and stay strong, no matter how much pain he was in. When had been the last time Thailand had cried? Kiku couldn't even remember the first time the Thai nation had cried, if he had ever. Japan could have sworn by now that Thailand didn't even know _how _to cry. But there he had been, on the phone the younger country, listening to the usually happy and carefree nation trying to hide his sobs from the older nation.

Kiku remembered the last time he had seen the Thai nation, a carefree smile on his face that warmed Japan every time he saw it. Thailand never seemed to get angry; not even when America got his and Mei's names mixed up (which tended to happen often as the American could _never _seem to get it through his head that Thailand and Taiwan were _not_ the same thing, but two _completely_ different countries altogether.) Thailand had even laughed at how Alfred _never_ seemed to get it right, _always_ mixing him up with his sister, even though _Thailand_ was his ally.

His thoughts wandered back to Mei as he heard the last thing she said. It seemed Taiwan had had the same thought as Japan, as she voiced her distressed thoughts to him. 'Countries couldn't die.' The Japanese man wanted to truly believe that. He wanted to truly believe that Mei was right, and that all this was just a joke by the Europeans. But he was reminded of Thailand's sorrow-filled voice, shaky, distressed, _helpless_. Japan took a deep breath, trying to compose himself once more, hoping that Mei hadn't caught his moment of extreme depression earlier.

"M-Mei…" His voice cracked anyway. 'Kuso…' he cursed in his mind, realizing he wouldn't be able to hide his true feelings. "T-Tai… He was on the front lines. H-he wouldn't lie to us. Never." But Kiku was sincerely wishing that, indeed, the Thai was lying and was only going along with it because America was his ally. But Japan knew Thailand would _never_ lie to him; not about something as important as this. He wouldn't lie about something that concerned the _entire_ world.

"H-he was there. He saw it happen. H-he sent me the reports. He even _called_ me himself. M-Mei, Tai was _crying_. He _never_ cries. Y-you know that," Japan stuttered, trying to put the words together properly and trying not to sound like a complete idiot. Kiku could feel the tears trying to escape from his eyes, but he held them back, trying to stay strong. His people would need him. He couldn't be weak, not when so many people would be depending on him—not just his people, but Taiwan's people, Thailand's people, even China's people—all depending on _him_. He couldn't let himself be weak; not now. And yet, Japan couldn't keep all the conflicting emotions bottled up, and tears slid down his cheeks, his eyes now locked on the floor, his petite figure shaking from silent sobs.

Dammit… Now he was crying; crying while on the phone with Mei of all people. He cursed himself for showing such weakness, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to stop. He let the tears slide off his face and land on the ground, leaving small wet spots on the carpet where the little droplets of sorrow had landed. He continued to cry in silence, clutching the phone hard, his knuckles turning white, as he waited for a response from Taiwan.

* * *

Silence. It was silent all around. Mei had used up the last bit of adrenaline she had, her rage extinguished with it, and now she was slumped exhaustedly against her chair, eyes closed as she lay her head on her arms, fingers only barely gripping the sleek plastic of the telephone. Kiku had made no answer, and the only sound transferred through the line now were the rushes of static from her shaky breaths.

Finally, the other spoke, voice cracking as he defended the truthfulness of that dreadful piece of news. **/"T-Tai… He was on the front lines. H-he wouldn't lie to us. Never,"/** and Mei had to crack a dry smile at that. Trust, was it? She wished she could give it as easily, but grudges were difficult things to forget and she didn't think as well of everyone as her brother.

She bit back the reply that she hardly knew Thailand as well as he did, because she knew it would upset Kiku even further. She might be hardheaded but she wasn't heartless, so she let him talk on, listening with an almost disturbing detachment to the story he related**. /"M-Mei, Tai was **_**crying**_**. He **_**never**_** cries. Y-you know that.."/**

And selfishly, she almost wanted to snap that she _didn't_ know, it wasn't like she commonly visited Thailand, it wasn't like she called him every Friday night, so he shouldn't talk as if they were close _friends_, but she swallowed that too, because she still loved Kiku, even though he thought too well of people, even though he had ruled her decades ago, and even though he had pulled away from her in 1972.

The other line had gone silent again, and Mei guessed that it was her signal to talk. She opened her mouth, frowned and stopped (what could she say?) when a choked sob emitted from the earpiece. Eyes widening and with a small sense of disbelief, she realized Kiku was crying. The sounds were muffled, and she knew he was trying to hold back (hold back because he still had some remnants of that centuries-old pride), but nevertheless...

"Ki... ku?" she asked, a hint of incredulity in her voice. For the long years she had been with him, as a subject, as a friend, she had never seen him cry (not even when the bombs went down, no, not even then), and listening to him now... Stupidly, she thought that she wanted to protect him and for some reason, that gave her some spark of determination.

She swallowed, told herself this was for them, for those people she loved, for _him_, so she wouldn't be too arrogant to give up her pride. "I—I believe it," she choked out. Not because she had faith in the Europeans, not even because she had enough faith in _Thailand_, but because—because... "I believe _you_, Kiku."

The words came out final, inescapable. She couldn't turn back from it now. She would believe this—this—whatever it was until time told differently because Kiku needed her to, and because (_this_ she would be too proud to admit) some part of her feared that it was the truth now. The uttered syllables of trust has signed her (her _country_) onto the war, and now certain measures would have to be taken, though the question that remained to be answered was 'which measures'?

They seemed to be decided for her, however, when a knock sounded at the door to her office, and was followed by a sharply outfitted figure as he entered the room. Mei recognized her country's uniform right away, and she whispered a quick "hold on a moment" into the phone before setting it down and directing her attention to the young soldier.

She stood, and all her anxieties and worries were swept under the mask of authority and self-control she exhibited to her people. "What is it?" she asked, adding a curt, "and make it quick," because she knew Kiku still had tears in his eyes and a knife in his heart.

He managed to get a hold of himself, cleared his throat and began again. "We have received an official report from the team in England and they confirm sightings of an infected population. They—" but Mei didn't need to hear anymore. She cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"Where are they now?"

"They deemed it too dangerous to land in London," the soldier informed her, "so they have situated themselves in the capital of Ireland. The Irish government is currently ordering a large-scale evacuation, and they believe they will have to move out soon as well. The infection is spreading at too rapid a pace and they could not seal off the borders in time."

Mei nodded at the information, eyebrows furrowing as she considered the situation seriously, resuming again her nervous habit of biting at her nails while the young man waited uneasily at the door. She wouldn't distrust the information of her own officials (because that had come with her promise), though it didn't stop a part of her from rebelling violently to think that such a story could be true.

Her soldier was the first to break the silence. "What—what is our course of action?" he stuttered, and Mei raised her eyebrows in surprise at the question reserved for the commanders of the military. _This_ would not be asked of her, unless—unless...

This was her government's concession of power to her, to their _nation_ (not that she was excluded from their usual decision-making), and that realization both pleased and frightened her. To have such a burden placed on her shoulders, all victory and all failure would be decided by and attributed to her. Whether she would or would not accept that control though—it was question that could be answered all too easily.

A grim smile made its way onto her face. Now that the reigns had been handed to her, they wouldn't lose, would _never_ lose, because she would not allow it. Just as much as she was embittered to her defeat by China, she had grown a fierce determination to overcome whatever challenge presented to her—and right now, it was what everyone called the 'apocalypse.'

"Leave me the report," she demanded, and the soldier obediently stepped forward to place the folder next to the one already upon her desk. She continued as he moved, glad at this chance for decision-making so that she could forget her nervousness and insecurities. "I want updates from all our embassies—send an ambassador to the countries where we don't have one. We'll keep track of everyone's movements—pay special attention to America and China, they could be our most important allies."

She was pacing the room now, voice growing stronger and confidence solidifying as she went on. Yes—yes, they could do this, _she_ could do this, and maybe, just maybe, she could work this situation to her advantage. "Also—" she continued. "The teams in England and Norway, I want them to monitor the spread of the disease. They are not to act just yet in conjunction with the governments hosting them, but let it be known that Taiwan will offer military assistance if need be."

The soldier listened intently to the orders he would be relating to his superiors, making sure to mark the girl's every word, impressed by her though she couldn't be any older than he. "Yes, ma'am!" he saluted the very moment she stopped speaking, and opened the door to complete his orders. Once with his hand on the wooden frame, however, he paused, hesitant. "And... what about you?"

Mei remained silent for a time, and when he thought he had made a mistake in asking, she finally voiced her answer. "I want a plane to Japan," she said, and though he was puzzled by her answer, he didn't question her any further. Feeling it was appropriate, he saluted again, and disappeared into the hallway, leaving his country alone in her study.

For a moment, she simply stood, reflecting upon the meaning of her orders. It showed that she had accepted the "apocalypse," and now that she had become involved, she definitely couldn't pull out and she couldn't deny her belief in the story, even though she still didn't trust it completely. Also—also...

Her gaze slid towards the telephone which lay on her desk (which had started this entire goddamned _mess_) and she knew that everything she had just said was for his sake, because she couldn't stand to see him cry. And now, she was leaving her nation alone to face the worst crisis ever encountered by this world, because she knew he was breaking inside and she loved him too much not to save him. She walked to the table, reached out and picked up the apparatus. "Ki... ku?"

He answered her after a brief silence, and Mei could tell that he had managed to grasp some semblance of composure while she had had her discussion with the soldier. But even so, she knew the news of England's death was tearing the other apart. Those two had been close—even after they fought the war against one another, they had been close—and this was a devastating blow to him.

"Kiku," she said again, and was glad when her voice didn't tremble because her hands were shaking as they gripped the phone. "Kiku, wait for me," she told him, and didn't delay to hear his answer before she pushed the phone back into place. She sat for a moment longer, heart beating fast as reality caught up to her, trying to steady her quivering hands. She was at war. She was at _war_.

Against exactly what?

Her fists clenched, bunching the white material of her skirt. She wouldn't allow herself to be daunted by the unknown. She would keep pushing on, no matter the obstacles that faced her—that was be the way of her and her country—and she wasn't stopping now. She stood, brushed herself off, and exited her study with confident strides.

On the twenty-first of July, exactly one week after the infection began, the Republic of China declared war on the undead.

* * *

The beeping of his cell phone told Kiku that Mei had hung up. He stood stock still for a few minutes, unable to really comprehend what he had been told. Japan blinked, sending more tears streaming down his face. Then something clicked; he was appalled by how stupid he must have sounded. It had just occurred to him that Taiwan never actually associated with Thailand, and that everything he had told her she must have been a bit unsure about.

A bit too late to worry about that now, anyway. He put his phone away, deciding there was no point in telling his boss that he'd be missing the rest of that meeting. It wasn't like it was all that important anyway—Kiku already knew everything that was being said. He had more pressing matters to worry about. He needed to let all the nations know that didn't know already about England's death. There was no lying that the news had really upset the usually strong-willed Japanese man, so much that he wasn't able to hold back the tears this time.

Japan hurried to his office, wiping his tear-stained face with the back of his hand, still too prideful to let anyone know he had cried. He flicked on the lights and turned on his computer, eyeing the screen that was quickly lighting up. So many nations he needed to tell—how would some of them react though? He had the feeling that even the countries that hated England would feel a harsh blow. How many other countries had died? Other than Norway, he had no idea. Looks like Kiku would be asking for news from others as well.

Kiku opened up the internet and quickly logged into his email. He scrolled down the list of contacts and put every country he could find that didn't already know about Norway's and England's deaths. He was short on time. Japan would need to send out more military support to the other countries close to England and Norway. Sweden and the other Scandinavians would need some major help. Typing a short message, the petite Japanese man hit the 'send' button and shut down his computer, leaving the room, knowing he had lots of work to do.

The message had only needed one sentence to get the message through: England and Norway are dead.

* * *

**Review! :D**


	21. Just Too Much

**AN: I... Don't know why this chapter is so long. :l Oh well. Sorry for the wait. I had finals. And yea. I've been working on that other fic too. A;;**

**Anyway, enjoy~**

**Disclaimer: ...Isn't it obvious?**

* * *

Shit.

This wasn't good.

Germany ran through the house, slamming open doors and yelling repeatedly. "Dammit, Prussia, where are you? You _must _have heard of these fucking zombies by now. I swear, if I find you sitting on your ass playing some stupid video games, you-" He broke off, entering the TV room and finding no one. Funny, he was sure he had heard noise coming from here.

Germany examined the room suspiciously, noticing the TV was still on, showing the latest news on the zombie invasions. So _that_ was the voices he had heard.

_**"... France is in complete chaos, and it is believed that every citizen throughout the country has been completely zombified. England and Norway as well, and we just received word that Austria has completely gone up in flames, though we were sure that there weren't any zombies there before..."**_

Austria. Shit. That was where Prussia had gone, most likely. He reached for the remote lying abandoned on the couch, wanting to turn off the depressing news report, but froze as the reporter announced yet another fact on the matter.

_**"It is believed that the zombies are headed for Berlin next, and a large van was seen speeding off in the direction of Germany-"**_

The TV screen went black as Germany felt his thumb press the power button. Staring blankly at the now silent device, the remote slowly slipped through his fingers to the ground.

They... the zombies... were coming here? But... why?

A large van... that must be Prussia. But then it was true, the undead _were_ headed for his capital.

As if on cue, the blonde nation heard a screech of tires outside, and he ran to the window to see Prussia and some female nation he'd never met before climb out of a van in front of his house. They both were certainly were not looking their best, with their clothes torn and muddy. He was certain that the many dark splotches on Gilbert's outfit were dried blood, and by the gloomy looks on both of the arrivals faces, he knew that some dreadful happenings had occurred.

With a queasy feeling deep in his gut, Ludwig ran to the front door, throwing it open and running up to the pair.

They were speeding of in the direction of Germany. Not knowing what they were going to do after that Antarctica decided to take a nap and think things over.

'Okay, so France was attacked by zombies, Prussia and Austria showed up to save him, France went suicide off the Eiffel Tower, and now Austria is dead as well…' Her thoughts weren't that positive and all she could think of was this one question: Who was going to die next?

Prussia brought the speeding van to a stop and got out of the car. Alyssa opened her eyes and followed.

Outside, a tall blond nation was waiting. It seemed that Prussia knew him seeing as though he walked right up to him.

"What happened? Is everyone alright?"

Up close, they looked even more battle-worn. The woman's hair was matted, her face scratched and smudged with dirt. Prussia was still bleeding in various places, and he looked as though he had been crying recently, something Germany thought impossible.

"Bruder... What happened?" He asked quietly, his heart breaking as he took in the sad expression his brother wore upon his face. And then he realized.

"Where's Austria? Wasn't he with you?"

Exhausted by the past fight with the undead, and physically drained from all the crying he did, Prussia sank down to his knees.

"A-Austria... Isn't... " Gilbert looked up at his younger brother, close to tears, then finally answered.

"Austria is dead. He was attacked by zombies, and he's dead. Nothing could have helped him! And on top of that, I had to fucking shoot him in the head!" Finally, the tears came again, against his will. He didn't want to make it so overdramatic, but after watching one of the closest people to him die from a zombie infection, it was kind of something to be _very _extreme about.

Ludwig instantly regretted asking the question of Roderich's whereabouts upon seeing his older brother's reaction. Kneeling down, he embraced Gilbert in a gentle hug, wishing there was something more he could do.

The two nations had a short conversation and the Albino dropped to his kness and he looked like he was crying.

"Shh, I understand, Bruder. It's alright... just... don't hold back the tears, okay? I know you're not one to show weakness, but..."

The Blond told his so called 'Bruder' before hugging him.

Closing his eyes, he tightened his grip around the poor albino, hoping to comfort his brother, if just a little. Carefully, he stood up, still holding Prussia in his arms, and slowly made his way into the house, calling to the other nation standing quietly nearby as he did so.

'Are nations always this close to each other?' Antarctica asked herself before the other nation turned her attention towards her.

"Er... I'm not quite sure who you are, but please, get everything you need from the van and come inside, I'm sure the zombies will find us eventually."

"Oh, I'm Antarctica. And don't worry about me. I'm fine at the moment… Uh, could I ask you your name?" Alyssa asked before staring at the crying Albino, feeling sorry for him.

Making his way through the front hall and into the living room, he gently placed Prussia upon the couch, before sitting next to him, wrapping one arm around his older sibling's shoulder.

"Gil, I know it must be painful for you, but I need you to tell me everything that happened. Please, Prussia, I need to know."

* * *

Hungary walked down the front yard, closing in on the front porch of Germany's home. A shotgun hung from the belt of here green uniform. She had just stopped by Roderich's home a few hours before his apparent death to pick up a tape from one of the camera's she had hidden there. Upon watching the tape, she found that he had gone to Prussia's home, and went to get a tape from yet _another_ camera (actually multiple cameras) she had hidden, to see if anything interesting had happened.

Having had her fill of yaoi of her 'precious' Austria and the albino she dared to call a friend, she had flicked on the news and checked her email to see what updates were to be had about the invasion of the living dead. An email from Kiku caught Elizabeta's attention. The Japanese nation rarely contacted her; why would that suddenly change? Keeping an ear open to the news, she took a look at the email. What she read made her suck in her breath and hold it there.

England… Norway… This couldn't be…

Tears flooded her vision and she put a gloved hand to her mouth, bringing her watery eyes back to the screen. She still remembered Arthur from when he was so small… How could he just… Something else caught her attention onscreen. At the images flashing, which had been filmed to show as little as possible of what was happening; she let her hand fall away from her mouth. Two pictures, of two different bodies, that had been taken afar to prevent the full details from being revealed.

'France… Austria…' She instantly recognized the clothes on the two figures. A bloodied purple cloak, long blond hair hiding his face, and blue barely visible through the chunks of flesh and the amount of blood, brown hair with a strand sticking up limply.

The Hungarian had dashed out of the house, grabbing her frying pan (though a frying pan would most likely serve no purpose other than to knock heads off of the living dead) and strapping a shotgun around her waist with ammunition on the way out in case she encountered any of the reanimated corpses. From there, she had headed straight for Berlin, having suspicions that Prussia was there along with whoever else he had saved from the chaos in that white van on the news.

And that's where she was right now, marching up the steps of the German's front porch, banging on the front door. She waited for two minutes, but being completely impatient at the moment and needing to talk to Gilbert _now_, Hungary backed up a few steps, and kicked the door open. Storming in, she called out to make sure they were even home.

"Gilbert! Ludwig! Are you here? Don't fuck with me! I know you're here!" Elizabeta called, storming down the hallway, looking for them. She found them in Germany's living room, stopping suddenly, mouth agape, staring at the spectacle in front of her. Prussia was… Crying! Hungary felt the sudden urge to laugh at him. She would have laughed too, if she hadn't known the reason why, but she knew all too well why the albino was crying with his brother comforting him. She wanted to hug him, tell him that it would be alright. She wanted to comfort the Prussian as well. But Elizabeta knew comforting wasn't what was used to get Gilbert to snap out of it and she thought about what could be done.

"P-Prussia…" Hungary took tentative steps towards them, not wanting to really ruin their little moment, but feeling like she needed to do something. Catching Ludwig's eyes, she walked up to them, knelt down in front of Gilbert, and…

Smacked him. And not just smacked him—she smacked him _hard_. The sound had resounded throughout the house and echoed slightly. The Hungarian was slightly amused at the expression received from Germany—one of pure shock. Watching Gilbert's slightly surprised expression, she patiently waited for a reaction.

* * *

The tears wouldn't stop. Prussia continued crying. Though it was his weakness... He normally wouldn't _dare_ let anyone see him crying. He normally only went down to his place of stay, began writing in his journal, then... Cry at how pathetic he was.

Ludwig holding him made him feel a little better, but that didn't take away all the pain he had inside, especially from what he had done to Austria. He let France die as well, not getting there in time. Same for Roderich.

"... I was standing _right there_... I could have done something... But didn't... I stood there, watching as those damn zombies tore flesh from his ankle..."

Gilbert slowly regained his composure.

"I did nothing but stand there. Then, as I carried Austria to that bakery... I felt as though I should just give up... He was going to die, and I continuously told myself, and him, that everything was gonna be alright... When we got inside, we shared a last parting kiss, before he took a last breath... And died in my arms... I grabbed the gun... And... "

Prussia wiped his face with a clean sleeve. He was still crying.

"I shot him..."

Ludwig listened to his brother's retelling of the tragic events, torn between horror and grief. Austria and France... just... gone? Like that? He had just talked to Roderich on the phone the other day, but now? And Francis... He'd never cared for the man, but it still came down hard with the realization that he'd never exchange words with the French nation ever again.

He wanted to comfort Gilbert, he couldn't stand to see his brother so helpless, so vulnerable, but as he opened his mouth, he found he couldn't bring himself to speak. Pressing his mouth closed once more, he rubbed small circles on Prussia's back, wishing to convey his feelings through actions when words failed.

Prussia began sobbing again, leaning into his brother's chest. Hungary's yells were unheard by the Prussian. When he looked up, non-other than Elizabeta Hedervary was kneeling in front of him. He stared at her for a moment, waiting for something, a slight sadness in her eyes, tears forming in pity, but... Nothing.

A moment of silence passed, broken only by the heavy sobs of the ex-nation, but Ludwig soon realized there seemed to be a new presence in the room. Looking upward, he found himself staring at the nation of Hungary. Blinking in surprise, he realized some sort of acknowledgment should be voiced, but Gilbert beat him to it.

"I–I take it you go–"

He never finished his sentence.

SMACK!

A stinging sensation formed on the Prussian's cheek, not helping with his current waterworks. His head was faced to the side, cheek red and starting to swell. He just sat there, and took it.

Gilbert was silent, eyes wide, then slowly... He calmed down.

"E... Elizabeta..."

Did... did she just... _slap_ him? Of all the things to do! Eyes widening, Germany slowly registered the fact that this _was_ Elizabeta, after all.

"... What... why exactly did you just smack my brother in the face...?"

Hungary gaped, ignoring Germany's question completely. This had not been the reaction she had been expecting. No, in fact, she had been expecting the complete _opposite_ of what she had just received. Where were the curses, the yelling; where was the anger that she had been looking for? Had he really just sat there and took her blow? It hadn't been _just _a smack to his face; she had been counting on it hurting his pride as well, and snapping him out of it.

Elizabeta sudden felt an overwhelming feeling of sorrow. She hadn't managed to cheer up her longtime friend, her former husband was dead, and some of her other friends were gone too. The world was being cruel, wasn't it? What had they all done to deserve this? A bitter smile formed at her lips, her eyes looking down at the ground.

She felt the urge to cry alongside the Prussian, but she couldn't allow herself to do so. Gilbert was at a low point, and she needed to be strong for both of them. She couldn't allow herself to wallow in self-pity or let herself weaken mentally. The trap that led to suicide would chew her up and spit her back out like some forgotten play-toy that it no longer felt the need to keep. She needed to stay strong so Prussia would not fall into that trap as well.

Elizabeta somewhat regretted hitting Gilbert now, seeing as it did no good. But what had he been expecting? Kind words of pity? Sympathy for his loss? Empathy, even?

She had lost friends as well. And they weren't the only ones hurting, she knew. The email from earlier already gave her knowledge that many other countries would be mourning over losses; America and the Scandinavians especially. Their losses might have even been small compared to the other countries'. Who else was dead that they didn't know about? What other countries had been overrun and turned into the living dead themselves? She didn't even want to think about a fellow nation reanimating into those horrible creatures.

But she couldn't allow either of them to fall into a pit of despair from which they might not even escape. How many soldiers had already committed suicide simply because they couldn't handle the stress mentally? How many more would follow? She couldn't count the losses. So there was no way Elizabeta would allow Gilbert to follow suit.

The albino looked just as, if not more, upset from before. Did her efforts account for nothing as she tried to awake him from a seemingly lonesome nightmare? Her eyes filled with determination, a fire sparked energy, allowing her to act instead of just think. Clenching her fists, she looked Prussia straight in his crimson eyes. She couldn't allow him to be so willing to give up; so weak. No words were needed, she decided.

Elizabeta hugged him, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulder, trying to provide some form of comfort. Breaking away from the hug, she let her hands rest on Gilbert's shoulders. Elizabeta looked him in the eye again before breaking eye contact and locking their lips together. The kiss didn't last long, but long enough for Hungary to start to run out of breath. She broke the kiss and leaned away, blushing at what she had just done. She let her hair fall down in front of her face, in a way, trying to hide. Elizabeta glanced up at Gilbert, wondering what kind of reaction this had instilled in the Prussian.

Sitting there... Prussia only thought of one thing. He should have given up when he had the chance. So many nights he sat in the basement, a bottle of beer in one hand, a razor blade in the other. Cuts were trailing up his arm; soon he would run out of room. Hardly would he ever wear short sleeves. When he did, he'd try his best to hide the self-mutilation that scarred his pale skin. This was all because he couldn't stand many days of people ignoring him, putting him down. The strongest always fall, and do so in a manner that no one ever expected.

This habit began when he was with Russia. All of the nights that he'd sit in front of the man, allowing Ivan to abuse him so. He tried to remember when he was happy, to no avail.

Now, his friends were dying, falling from their position as some of the toughest powers in the world. They were dying and he couldn't do anything. He almost thought of laughing, as all the people who hurt him emotionally were slowly dying out. Sitting in Germany's arms made him feel a little better, knowing he had _someone_ to count on. Someone who would be there to make him feel better.

Gilbert looked into Hungary's eyes, telling that she was feeling sorry, sympathy was rolling in her head, trying to find words to say... But can't.

Suddenly, arms were wrapped around his shoulders, and Elizabeta was hugging him. He was surprised, but not as surprised as he was when she kissed him.

Soon it was done, over with. He sat there, silently, looking at the brown hair that hid her face, wishing he could see what expression was on her face now. He tried to gather words to say, but couldn't. For once, the Prussian wasn't the awesome being he once was. He had no comeback.

* * *

Drifts of snow floated down onto coal-black cobblestone pavement. They clumped together to form a thin sheet of ice that extended just past the heel of Belarus's leather studded military boots. A hushed murmur drew from the crowd huddling around an electronics store display window. Passing pedestrians stopped periodically to view current events broadcasting from the Western television sets aligned conveniently for the public, however, large gatherings were next to never.

Must be an update about the Infection, she thought. No sense of accomplishment tinged her body when the pixels proved her true. She kept a stoic structure; hands tucked away into the fur of her coat and her lips hidden away from any gales that licked her face. Blue-violet eyes reflected off the frosted glass that protected the sets of static anchors. News traveled fast. Great Britain bathed in blood. France lived in undead ghettos. Austria lay under poising skies.

"My, my... I seems as if I have taken the situation a too lightly."

Her platinum locks whipped through the mass. She wrestled her way through the crowd, their emotions mixed with sorrow and anger. The former murmur threw into a flurry of panicked questions and harsh yells. It disgusted her. Was that all they ever did? Yell and scream like mentally challenged, incompetent children? Even if Natalya had decided to not partake in the world crisis prior, what mattered is that she followed out her own preaching's.

However, she was subject to change her mind. This was a "free world," after all, as a certain rambunctious American would proclaim. New reforms would have to be made.

* * *

Before the depressing gray, he stood. Vash did not pay notice to the collection of drizzle accumulating amongst his locks, nor did he recognize Liechtenstein's umbrella being considerately raised above their heads. His thoughts wandered in wonder; whatever they did in this mysterious Finnish laboratory could lead to the end of this Zombie epidemic that devastated Europe. He was a strong believer in this. He would not hesitate to donate millions to this cause if he were to be impressed by progressive studies; however, if this were not to be the case, all hope would be as false as the success of Zombie testing.

He nodded, a gesture to signal their advance. Vash, Lili, and the trusted officials moved onwards, past the threshold of the security guarded entrance. An electronically generated double doorway acknowledged the group at the push of a button. Beyond the crystal encased frames was a dreadfully mundane space, occupied only by an abandoned office desk. Switzerland took tentative steps into the unknown, a trail of loyals crowding behind him.

Vash was only able to be led through the facility if accompanied by a guide, and he and his group were under strict orders to stay in the room they currently resided in if separated by said guide. The meet up was ordered rather hastily, pulled together at the last minute due to the urgency of the crisis. Ironic as it was, Switzerland felt a pang of irritation fire through his body at the man's tardiness. If he were able to meet rushed demands, Vash thought, then surely the unpunctual guide would be able too, as well! Switzerland was notorious for his impatience, just as his skilled handle for guns and his (no longer) permanent neutrality. Whether it was five or sixty minutes that have passed, time was of the essence, and _no one_ would afford to lose a single second. Was this incompetent guide aware of that?

(Not) Soon enough, a pair of black polished shoes shuffled across the reflective white floor. The owner shifted his oddly desperate and worried expression into one that mixed into that of relief and an apology.

", I presume? I apologize for my late timing. Please, let's get started! We have wasted enough time as it is, yes?" The man graciously greeted the group with an exchange of traditional smiles and handshakes. Switzerland accepted the man's acts without protest and kept his annoyance bottled. Vash was, much to his discontent, at the mercy of this Finnish facility.

And so the tour proceeded. The group was led through weaves of hallways, through numbers of elevators and stairways. All of which were flocking with scientists and officials alike, in contrast to the desolate countryside that skirted the facility.

There were several different spacious rooms that were accommodated according to their own special services. Each of which were equally disturbing. A room held thousands of gallons of water within a tank, with specialists keeping track of the Zombie's actions. Water seemed to have no effect on the undead, whatsoever.

The second room had a fifty foot pit, encased with special glass that would be able to withstand hell rising temperatures. This was so, as the purpose was the measure the Zombie's fire resistance. This particular element was able to dispose of the common enemy at certain temperatures only. They said that they were considering the mass destruction of Norwegian invaders to be wiped out by something as drastic as nuclear weapons. The subject needed to be further looked into, however.

Other rooms held research towards behavior of Zombies towards other Zombies, tests to determine which gases affected the undead, and tests to determine which of the five senses were enhanced and which deteriorated.

What they really wanted to work on, the guide explained, was what components were found inside of the _actual_ Zombie. This was a necessity if they wanted to obtain a cure or a vaccine if a person were to be bitten (it's different if the person is ripped limb from limb, of course). Samples were taken from the dead Zombies, however, samples from the undead would also be better if they wanted to create an accurate treatment. Various other tests were left undone due to a tight grip on funding. The reason why Vash had gone through the trouble to get into this facility was to determine whether it wouldn't be a waste of his currency, and thus far, things were pointing in a positive light.

Hours drifted away. Scientists gathered together to converse with the dozen officials that accompanied him and Liechtenstein. Their trusty guide departed with the group for unknown reasons. The man left in a hurry, trying desperately to hide his anxiety. Despite the awful first impression and the guide's suspicious actions, Switzerland was considering pouring money into this cause. He would have to discuss this with Lili, of course.

His sharp eyes were meant to fall upon his little sister; however, they caught hold of something else. In the dim hallway in which Vash turned his back to, a creature crouched behind the corner, attempting to keep away from sight. From what his mind was able to uncover was a lean body, cladded in raggedy clothing. His heart nearly imploded. It couldn't have been a Zombie—it would have been making its way towards the obvious noise leaking from the room. His BPM lowered after this revelation. What was it, then? Ignoring Liechtenstein's confused looks, he edged his way towards the foreboding hallway…

Vash acknowledged her answer with a curt nod, and with that gesture, the small entourage moved forward, out of the solemn gray of the raining skies above them and into the even more solemn shadow of the facility. It was crazy, Lili assumed, but she could almost have sworn that each meter of progress they made towards the building, the air became a little bit colder... She shivered again and barred her thoughts from such a ridiculous idea, though her fingers unconsciously grasped the handle of the black umbrella ever tighter as their steps brought them closer and closer to the place that maybe, _hopefully_, held humanity's chance.

They were admitted through the double doors at the press of a button, and the girl shook off and folded the umbrella before making her way inside. She followed close behind Vash as they entered, footfalls echoing eerily off the tiled floors. Their guide (the one her brother had told her they would be meeting) was nowhere to be found, and in the minutes that they lingered, she took the chance to study their surroundings.

They were in a sort of lobby, she assumed, though it held no sort of welcoming atmosphere as she usually saw in hotels or offices. If anything, the metal chairs with their thin, gray cushions, walls devoid of any sort of decoration aside from the occasional window and the empty reception desk only added to the general feeling of cold menace. As she examined the room lit under too-bright fluorescent lights, she thought it looked very much like a prison.

Feeling no more reassured by her brief survey of the area, Lili stole a glance at her brother, hoping to gauge his impression of the facility. She caught him just as he glanced down at the silver watch he wore around his wrist, a frown etched on his face, and she realized that he was getting impatient. The small country knew him well, and she guessed that he was irritated with their guide for his tardiness, especially in a situation like this, where time was precious, and moving at too rapid a pace for their liking.

Lili began to feel slightly apprehensive herself as if the anxiety was contagious (how long are we going to be standing here? has something gone wrong? please, _please_, let this place have what we're looking for—), but she swallowed and tried to dispel the tight feeling in her chest. Seeking to offer some form of comfort to the tense blonde beside her (and in some ways, to herself), she reached out to lay her hand on his arm.

Before Vash could react, however, the sound of footsteps drew their attention to the hallway leading further into the building, and from there appeared whom Lili assumed would be their guide. He was a middle-aged man, gray just beginning to paint streaks in his hair and she thought that he looked rather harried, if his nervous smile and quick apology was anything to go by. She did not think further into it than that—if this institution was aiming to make a good impression, surely they would be anxious, no? Although she judged that their guide's tardiness was already a strike in her brother's book.

The man approached their group with his hand extended, and both sides exchanged introductions and greetings, Lili with a small smile though Vash was curt and sharp. He wanted to begin the tour as soon as possible, and he couldn't stand the time they spent lingering at the doorway. The guide seemed to share that sentiment, as the formalities were concluded quickly, and then they were being lead through the heavy doors that connected to the interior of the facility, where, the girl presumed, the experiments were conducted. She stared a moment at the intimidating entrance, swallowed her nervousness, and followed the party through.

Gruesome. That was her first impression.

The guide at the head, the small crowd walked the long, winding corridors of the institution, filled with staff and personnel. They were shown various rooms in which a zombie's resilience was tried, viewable through glass more resilient than it seemed. Fire, water, gas—the possibilities were all tested here, and though Lili had to admit that she was impressed, she found herself diverting her eyes from behind the viewing windows.

They were dead, she knew, _worse_ than dead, and yet she couldn't repress the part of her that was repulsed by what was being done to them, repulsed by the creatures themselves, and mourned the human who had once possessed the body that was now no more than a flesh-devouring corpse. Trying to ignore the slew of uneasy emotions that swirled in her gut, she took up analyzing her brother's reactions.

He was pleased with what he had seen in the facility, the quick and efficient manner in which the tests were carried out, the level-headed answers and theories of the employees. He was seriously considering investing money into this research—Lili could tell by the way he pressed the staff with questions, nodding when satisfied with their answers, occasionally demanding that one of their own officials jot down something of importance. If he was fully pleased with the progress being made, she didn't doubt he would be able to convince his government, and hers as well, to fund this facility. She still didn't like this place—would never feel at ease there—but she realized what this building held could be vital to the world.

* * *

A few hours in, the tour was halted in order to give both parties a chance to discuss, and the conversation rose and fell in English with varying degrees of accuracy. Sometime during the mingling, the guide had disappeared though the girl was not aware of that fact, unlike her brother who had remarked upon the man's hurried departure with a sharp eye.

Her attention was drawn to Vash himself, however, when she saw that he had separated himself from the group, and was taking slow steps into a darkened hallway to the right. Lili furrowed her brows, wondering what he might be after. Had he seen something? Growing slightly curious herself, she followed behind, abandoning the lights of the main room to trail after him. She walked briskly, slowing only when she had caught up to the other.

She strained her eyes to peer through the darkness, gaze passing over containers, boxes, trash-cans, and a table pushed close to the wall. She could see nothing out of the ordinary, and she was beginning to wonder if Vash had merely wanted to speak in private when her eyes finally landed on a crouching figure, clothed in tatters, partially hidden by the bend of the hall.

An alarmed gasp made its way past her lips as her hand shot out to clutch her brother's. Was it one of the undead? Though her rationality argued against such an absurd idea, her imagination provided her with a sequence of images of the figure launching itself at them, of what light there was shining on a dirty, rotting face, of teeth sinking into her flesh—or worse, Vash's.

And at these depictions, her heart beat faster, breath coming out quick and shallow, apprehension squeezing a tight fist around her torso. If Vash had not kept moving forward, Lili probably would have frozen on the spot, but as it was, he continued in his long strides and her legs reluctantly followed. Her voice finally came back as they approached the shadowed corner, and she whispered a breathless "Bruder..." channeling all of her anxiety into that one title.

She wished to tell him that maybe this was not a good idea, they had no idea who or _what_ was awaiting them, and they should inform the officials who were chatting away at that precise moment behind their backs. This did not have to be their problem, they could just turn around and walk away and leave it to the staff of the facility to take care of it, they didn't have to be involved, they should _turn around_ before that figure noticed them—

But they were too close to pass unperceived now—Lili could now make out the square jaw and strong nose of an older man—when his head suddenly snapped towards them, eyes widening, and she jumped at the sudden movement, unconsciously gripping her brother's hand tighter. They had finally been spotted, and she had no idea what would happen now—would they be attacked?—because that thought still refused to go away even though the man's reaction had been all too human.

The three—one human and two distressed countries—stood stock-still in silence for a moment, wondering how much a threat one posed for the other. Vash was tense beside her, hand at his hip, and no doubt he was missing the weapon he usually kept holstered there, which had been confiscated earlier on. Lili was standing rigidly herself, prepared to react at any sign of menace from the figure in the corner, even if she had no idea what it was she could do (fight? run? and what if he went for Vash—?).

They were saved the deciding course of action, however, as it was the man who moved first, but his maneuver, though not what Lili had originally feared, complicated their situation no less. He raised a finger to his lips, shaking his head frantically, the gaze locked on those who found him desperate and imploring. The fear in his eyes struck a chord in Lili, and suddenly, she was unable to ignore his request that they keep his secret, even if by no means did she trust him.

At the very least, she thought, they could be reassured about his humanity, though why he would try so desperately to stay concealed was a question that eluded her, and the absence of an answer was unsettling. She had no idea what to think, now that they had been spotted. That selfish part of her reared its ugly head once again, insisting that they turn back and alert the officials, because this man was trouble in one way or another, but she pushed it aside, and looked to her brother (her _better_) for guidance.

"Bruder..?" she repeated again, softer, a question in her voice. 'What do we do? What do we do with this man? What do we do with this facility? What do we do if the very worst happens to this world? Oh brother—what do we do about _us_?' Those thoughts, they went unsaid and hopefully, unknown, by Vash—as far as he knew, the only thing his whispered title meant was the questioning of their actions at that moment, and she was okay with that. Right now, _those_ answers weren't needed. They could wait—and hopefully by then, it wouldn't be too late.

The soles of his leather dress shoes were silent as they cautiously shifted their host towards a sketchy figure confined in the black of the hallway. Vash's hand left arm was held slightly astray, signaling his sister to stay in the safety of his backside. It was safe to assume that whatever creature lurked a few steps away was not a Zombie, but the chances of it being of equal threat were uncertain. Perhaps it was a spy that came to dismantle the foundation of this institute, Vash thought. A final lunge brought the two countries face-to-face with the unknown, and both parties were drawn senseless. It was not what Switzerland had anticipated at all.

Vashs' analytical jade eyes flickered up and down the shady figure. The tatters of cotton hung loosely around a skinny frame. Bubbles of scars and white patches were the impurities found along the strange man's exposed skin. His head was shaven, and a five o' clock shadow graced the man's defined jaw line. His cracked, thin lips were separated just the slightest. The nostrils of his pointed nose flared in anxiety. His bony fingers, popping with veins, curled and scratched the wall that supported him. His black eyes shook with defeat and pure terror.

The two nations were flabbergasted. Not what he was anticipating _at all_. Following upon instinct, Vash swiped at the particles of air that occupied the area beside his hip. Dumbfound for only a moment, his memory jogged back to the moment upon his arrival—when all of his treasured firearms were confiscated. The man raised a fist; Vash flinched. The suited nation tensed his body and shifted to ensure maximum protection over Liechtenstein. However, the man surprised the two nations once again. From the fist protruded one index finger, held centimeters away from his pursed lips. The man's shaven head shook frantically from side to side, begging the two to remain silent. Vash was speechless.

Questions sent the Swiss into a spiral of disarray. His wide eyed younger looked cautiously at Vash. 'What are we going to do now?' His glance travelled from Liechtenstein and back to the mystery that desperately pleaded for an absent sounded hallway. He could not leave this man as he was; Vash had to discover this man's back story. Only one solution broke through the masses of choices—Vash shot out an erect right arm and grasped the man's neck in a stern lock. A piercing gale of air broke through the man's lips. The dominator quickly led the prisoner towards another corridor to increase their stealth. Vash didn't want anyone interrupting this vital interrogation session. He shoved the man into the wall and loosed his grip, just enough to allow the man to speak properly.

His gaze intensified, burning through the sockets of the man's half-open eyes. They flashed with blurs of despair. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" The man made no adjustments in his structure. He looked as if he were about to burst out in tears any moment. "Answer me!" Vash hissed. The others' black eyes stared into Vash's green pupils in fear and confusion. A collage of mumbled, panicked language was the man's only answer to Vash's questions. Switzerland's blood began to boil. This man is hopeless, he thought. He grounded his teeth together, considering the thought of turning this idiot to the authorities.

However, before we could do such actions, a soft hand fell onto his right shoulder. Lilli stood behind him, her facial expression mimicking the man's; worried and confused. His mind eased. Vash scolded himself for being too rash. Surely there were other ways to coerce an answer from this man. He tried to identify the mutter given only seconds earlier—it didn't seem as if what the man said was in Finnish. Did this man not speak Finnish? Vash's fingers curled around the man's neck. "Speak up!" He spat out his command in German, Italian, Swedish— his persistence was rewarded when his words dawned upon a language that he had not bothered to take extensive studies in; Russian.

"P-Please…! Let me go! Please!"

What was a Russian man doing in this Finnish facility? Vash pressed the man. "Answer my questions and I will be merciful. What are you doing here?"

Skinny finger scratched aimlessly at Vash's iron grip. "I—They… They brought me here!"

"Who is 'they'?"

"_Them_—! The… soldiers brought me here. They took me and brought me here…!"

Surprise left Vash's mouth agape. He regained his superior composure and continued. "Where are you from? What are they doing to you?"

"Fr—From Belarus. A prison house in Belarus… they took the whole wing and brought us here t—to be… be eaten alive by those horrible _monsters_! Ripped the shreds, tortured—they say that it is for the better, but what better does this do? I have seen my fellow prison inmates tossed into a pit of death by those people without a care. Even an innocent man would be thrown in there without a second thinking. Old, young—those scientists only want to waste our lives—!"

The darkened veil of the corridor they previously occupied dissolved in a flicker of florescent lights. Vash could make out the panicked yells of their tour guide. "Where is Mr. and Ms. Zwingli? Find them! Find them, quickly! Damn!" Shuffling feet echoed throughout the hall, and soon they would meet with the trio. Vash's heartbeat accelerated. God knows what would happen if they were found—killed, most likely. Information as dramatic as what the Belarusian revealed was to be kept under lock and key under all costs. "Shit!" He grabbed a hold around Liechtenstein's thin wrists and pulled her along. He took off down the corridor. In desperation, the man followed them.

* * *

**AN: Review! :D**


	22. Wonder

**AN: Sorry for the long delay everyone. I was busy for a while, and the story has been going kind of slowly (which just means we're all procrastinating more than we should.) Yea... I'm trying out for the Creative Writing conservatory at my school. *totally didn't enter a fanfiction that she wrote into the portfolio* Denmark should be reappearing _sometime_ soon, but I can't make promises. Meanwhile, enjoy this chapter. Oh, and something I forgot to add last chapter: As of that chapter, Prussia was officially a pimp and an emo. And thank you to the readers who have stayed with us this long! I'll try and get at least one chapter out a month from now on until the RPing picks up.**

**Disclaimer: Again, we don't own Hetalia.**

* * *

Thailand was crouched down, his hands together in a form of praying, head bowed in mourning. Waves crashed on a shore behind him, the sun shining, warming his back; peaceful. The Thai was muttering things behind his hands, eyes closed, the scent of the burning incenses in front of him being carried off by the slight breeze coming from the sea. He stood up slowly, eyes opening behind black-framed glasses, and stared silently—sorrowfully—at what was lying in front of him.

Thailand let his eyes trace over the entity of what he saw. A cross stood upright—though slightly tilted—in the sand, a white flag bearing a red cross—red; that _dreaded_ color that seemed to curse them—curling around it along with a second flag, this one blue, red, and white—the Union Jack. Both flags lay draped over the cross, clean and slightly dull, worn from everything that had happened. Glinting in the sunlight, hung around the cross, was a necklace with only one gem, a raindrop shaped emerald that shone almost as brightly as the sun. A dark swirl seemed to fill its center, seeming to contain the life force of something; _someone_. All these items draped over the grave of Arthur Kirkland, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

Thailand looked up at the clear blue sky that sat above him, sighting, then turned around to face the water that lay in front of him so he would not have to look at the grave. He made his way to Latvia, who, with tears still in his eyes, was watching America stare out at the endless expanse of blue. Alfred had been like that ever since they had arrived on these shores. When they had all managed to make it to the Thai's home country, Thailand's boss and military officers were going to give England a military funeral and burial. Thailand had swiftly refused to let them, believing Arthur deserved better wanting to bury the deceases Englishman somewhere that resembled his country as close as possible. The trio had decided the beach was the best place. Thailand had taken them all to Phuket, where they were currently standing.

Upon arrival, Latvia and America realized why Thailand had selected this shore out of the many that lined the coasts and islands of Thailand's country. The sand was so clean and soft, the water was incredibly clear, the waves glittering as the hit the shore. There could have been no better place to bury the Brit other than his own beaches which, unfortunately, were probably no more by now.

Thailand put a hand on Latvia's shoulder reassuringly, managing a small but sad smile, trying to make the smaller nation feel better somehow, reminding the other that none of this was his fault and that no matter what he could have done, England would most likely have died anyway, regardless of whether Latvia had helped or not.

Thailand looked back at America, who was still standing in the same place, staring out at the sea. He couldn't help but worry. The American was heartbroken. The one who had cared for him since he had been nothing but a colony was gone, and for once, Alfred found there was nothing he could do about it.

"Do you think… he'll be okay, ana?" Thailand asked uncertainly, knowing Latvia most likely didn't have the answer, but hope still fluttering in his chest at the prospect that the American standing in front of them, looking broken, would still fight and come back even stronger with a new determination as well as lust for revenge against those horrid creatures.

Latvia fixed all of his senses on what lay in front of him, ignoring all else around him and isolating himself from the rest of the surrounding world. He could not see the sun shining daintily down upon the earth. He could not hear the cool waves of the ocean gently lapping at the jagged rocks beside them. He could not feel the calm breeze of the afternoon which so tenderly licked his face. He could not taste the pungent saltiness in the air which radiated from the sea's currents. He could not smell the aroma created by the burning incense just nearby. The small country blocked out all of these surrounding interferences. All of these distractions. All of these calming thoughts. All of these seemingly unnecessary luxuries. All Raivis could comprehend was what stood in front of him.

There, right in the path of Raivis's blue gaze was a cross. Not just any cross. This cross signified where Kirkland, Arthur, England, Britain, whatever one may wish to call him, was lying. He was underneath the rough sand which the cross so mercilessly impaled. He was in the earth which was now about to swallow him whole. He was dead; unable to move, unable to speak, unable to laugh, unable to smile, unable to provide advice, unable to yell at his brother, unable to frighten everyone with his cooking, unable to spout absurdities at France, unable to even think. Arthur, the person whom Latvia had known, the person who had helped him at times, the person who would never give up without a struggle... Was... Gone... Just like that... His life was erased off the face of the earth, with nothing to show for it except for a rotting body.

Was it really that easy? Could anyone just die that simply? I-it couldn't be. It was impossible. Arthur wasn't gone. He wasn't gone! Sure, England was... dead. Raivis stared at the figure with two flags over it. There had to be _something_ after death. People didn't just perish and be done with it? Did they? Did they? No, they went on. They continued to live happily. In Heaven, right? Yes, in Heaven. Heaven was where Arthur would go. Surely it would be where he would end up. And he would spend the rest of his afterlife there. Doing what? Oh, chatting with others, of course. He would spend his time talking to others, and playing games with them, and living out a perfect afterlife, and, and, and...

And what? What? What would he really be doing there? Raivis almost couldn't bring himself to face it. "Nothing," he whispered quietly to himself. He wouldn't be doing anything in Heaven. Because there was no such thing. All Arthur would do was rot in the ground, let the ground eat him, decompose. Latvia held back a flood of tears as he thought of this. He was always so naive, so innocent, like a child. He had always thought that nothing bad would ever happen to those whom he loved or cared about or admired. Now, he could see how wrong he truly was, how weak he was, how dumb he was. Raivis closed his eyes in order to stop himself from releasing another wave of tears, and stood this way for several minutes.

He was still standing in nothing. He could not register anything that was going on around him. Latvia simply stood as though he were trapped in a dark abyss, either unwilling or unable to escape its dark clutches. Suddenly, the small country was forced to return to earth. From a mere touch, Latvia plummeted back down to the ground, almost dying from the free fall. Latvia did not dare to venture back to his normally spacey demeanor. As he noticed that it was Thailand who had touched him so gently, Raivis realized that now was time for a change. Thailand's smile assured him that now was not the time to feel sorry for himself. Everyone else was facing their own problems, and they certainly did not need Latvia to go ahead and pile his own weight on top of their already immense ones.

He couldn't be weak anymore. He just couldn't. Raivis's urge to shed tears slowly grew fainter and fainter, eventually leaving altogether. Thailand was always so kind to everyone around him. Latvia certainly did not want to burden him or anyone else with his own petty emotions, for they were now completely worthless. Who would ever benefit from one of Raivis's thoughts or emotions? Latvia very well knew the answer: no one. Now was not a time for crying and pondering and letting one's guard down. Now was a time for action. But... Still... Latvia couldn't help but feel for his own loss as well as Thailand and especially America's. He couldn't simply just shake that feeling away with some motivational thoughts.

Raivis followed Thailand's gentle gaze over to where America was situated. America... He looked so lonely, so isolated, so awfully separated from life. As though when the Reaper dragged England away, he tore off some of the man as well. However, was this really such an absurd thought? America had been cared for almost all of his life by England. Of course Alfred would be the most devastated by this. Latvia realized that he was being extremely selfish. He thought that he was equally as upset as any other country. What a fool he was. What a disgusting, awful, egotistical. blathering idiot he was to think that he could _ever_ comprehend what Alfred was feeling at the moment. He didn't understand. And he would, most likely, never understand just how America was feeling, and the sort of loss he was going through.

Thailand once again parted his lips in order to speak to Raivis,** /"Do you think… he'll be okay, ana?"/** With that, all of the noise, all of the feelings, all of the sights, all of the smells, and all of the tastes finally came flooding back into him. Latvia could, after such a long time, feel the breeze, see the sun, hear the waves, taste the salt, and smell the incense. All of these sudden sights, sounds, smells, and feelings seemed almost alien to Latvia as he struggled to compute what exactly they were in the little amount of time in which he had truly been exposed to them. It shocked him, really, and he did not understand Thailand's question at first. Instead, Raivis fixed his gaze back up at the country before finally understanding.

Latvia's mind took several long minutes before finally comprehending the question which he was asked. After recalling what it was and forcing his mind to understand, the thought stuck in his mind... **/"Do you think… he'll be okay, ana?"/** He could even hear it once more in Thailand's own voice. The question echoed solemnly through his head, seeming to go on almost forever, almost refusing to end its path. Raivis nearly became frustrated at this, and wanted the phrase to simply stop repeating itself. He understood. He knew what it meant. And he knew how to answer it. He did. Did he really? Raivis didn't even understand what it was like to truly lose someone who was exceptionally close. He didn't understand. He didn't know. He couldn't possibly give Thailand a detailed answer without lying.

Once the inquiry ceased to make a single sound inside of his mind, Latvia was able to probe his own mind without interference. Maybe if he searched hard enough, he could find a proper way to answer Thailand. Maybe Alfred would be fine. Maybe America would just manage to shake this off like another scratch and go on with his life. Maybe he would use this opportunity to help others and better himself. Or... Or maybe... Latvia was soon flooded with terrible thoughts. Ones he attempted to block out of his mind, but to no avail. Ones that still continued to haunt him long after his conversation with Thailand would be over. However, Raivis still managed to force out three simple words; ones which he had tried desperately to avoid having to say. In a nearly trembling voice, Latvia slowly began to utter, "I don't know."

Thailand sighed, but gave Latvia's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, smiling slightly, letting him know that he'd be there for the small nation. He figured that would be the answer, the question being even the slightest bit rhetorical. Who was he kidding? Of course Alfred wouldn't be okay. He had just lost one of the people who had been closest to him in one of the most gruesome ways possible, and he hadn't been able to do anything and hadn't even received any explanation for this mess. It had started in England and Norway, hadn't it? So there was only one possible explanation for this whole thing.

The Thai didn't want to be the one to tell America anything like that though, in the off-set chance that he was actually wrong, and what he thought to be the truth wasn't. He was about to respond to Latvia but his thoughts had drifted off. How were the other countries holding up? Were any of his siblings in danger?

Thailand was snapped out of his thoughts by a young British soldier that had come out onto the beach and was walking towards him. The young boy looked probably no more than sixteen and had bright green eyes and messy blond hair—both of which painfully reminded the Thai of England—and spoke in a crisp British accent—also reminding him of England—while holding out a letter.

"Is Mr. Jones here? I have a letter from Sir Kirkland for him," he said, holding out the letter to the Thai.

Thailand blinked and nodded. "Yes, but I'll give him the letter, ana. I think it would be better if I did." Thailand accepted the letter, blinking back tears as he looked at the young soldier. Though shorter than Arthur, the young boy resembled him so much, with bright green eyes—not quite as dark and not as wise—and messy ash blond hair with eyebrows much like the Brits; Thailand would have probably mistaken the boy as Arthur if he was taller and if the Brit in question wasn't lying in the ground. It definitely wouldn't do America any good to see the boy, the Thai decided.

Taking the letter, Thailand saluted the young soldier and watched the human leave. He sighed, turned around, and walked towards Alfred, who was still standing there, looking out at the ocean. Thailand stopped a few feet away, debating whether or not he should disturb the mourning American. Sucking in a breath, Thailand tapped America's shoulder lightly, trying to get his attention, not really wanting to make the American feel worse than he was already feeling. It wouldn't do any of them any good.

"Alfred… I have a letter for you, ana. It's from Arthur."

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**...I feel like such a jerk, leaving you all with a cliffhanger. |D Anyway, please review! For some reason, my fellow writers pick up the pace when there are more of them.**


	23. God Help Us, If You're Really There

**AN: I'm very, very sorry for such a long wait. The RP kind of... well... died. So its unlikely that this story will continue. Thank you all for sticking with this story, but i'm afraid, just like all RPs do, this story will die as well. *bows* I thank you all for reading, and please enjoy what will most likely be the last chapter of the story.**

**Disclaimer: Pfft. We wish we own Hetalia.**

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A sudden movement to her right, and Lili gasped when her brother suddenly lashed out, hand closing around the man's throat and pushing him around the corner where he had just been crouching moments before. Quickly, heart-beat accelerating, breathing shallow, she followed them, knowing that Vash didn't plan on killing the stranger but that his temper was frayed, nevertheless. For someone as organized and _planned_ as he, this man had frustrated his orderliness, and that upset him.

Now the country was questioning him, voice harsh and commanding, but the man only shook his head, looking as if he might break down and begin to cry at any given moment. Her brother's eyes flashed dangerously, and Lili knew that the thin thread of his temper had frayed just a little further. Fearing for the stranger, fearing more that he would do something rash if she didn't stop him, the girl reached out a tentative hand and placed it on his shoulder.

"Bruder..." Though at first, she had been uncertain as to her brother's motives, she realized now with the flurry of the questions he had asked that Vash considered this man to be a valuable source of information. It wouldn't do now to turn him over to authorities or yet, even worse... She shook her head, clearing it of the morbid thoughts that seemed to be taking over more and more as the calamity wore on. She chalked it up to the stress and shock of it all, and redirected her attention to the situation at hand.

She wanted to know just as much as her brother. What was this strange man doing in this facility? Someone who spoke no Finnish, who was no better clothed than a beggar, with that strange and pockmarked face, who might have been handsome under all the fear and uncertainty and confusion? Vash turned around in answer to her gentle gesture, and she thought she saw those same questions mirrored in his guarded jade eyes.

He had calmed down, at the very least, and he was a trifle calmer when he turned back towards their prisoner, though that temper was still simmering beneath the apparent composure. Lili didn't remove her hand from his shoulder as he spat out one demand after another, in varying languages, her touch a subtle comfort... and a reminder not to let loose his frustration

They finally hit a bulls-eye when Vash repeated his command in what Lili recognized as Russian. She shot her brother a nervous glance, fingers unconsciously tightening on the fabric of his shirt. What was a Russian doing here, all the way in Finland? Vash must have realized the peculiarity of these circumstances as well, if the next words out of his mouth were any indication**. /"What are you doing here?"/**

Lili didn't know much Russian, being a country small in both size and population, without many concerns of trade, but she knew the bare essentials. She had been taught once, for the spring in 1945 by a certain Ivan Braginsky out of both amusement and his own peculiar taste of gratitude. She had learned sporadically from then on, managing to get a decent grasp on the odd, yet strangely beautiful tongue.

Although her knowledge was little, she understood enough of the interrogation to be horribly stunned and terrified by the story related by the stranger. The stranger who had been abducted from his home country, who had been thrown into a train with others of his kind like packs of cattle, who had seen countless horrors inflicted upon those who were unfortunate enough to share the journey with him.

The girl turned away, throat closing and mouth dry. She raised a hand to her mouth, green eyes sliding shut. She felt sick. 'To use humans like that—like rats, like disposable _dolls_—it was cruel, too cruel...' Her brows furrowed and her teeth sank into her lower lip. _And yet wasn't the first time_. 'Necessary sacrifices,' that was the phrase, wasn't it? Necessary sacrifices just like that pretty little blonde girl.

The lights flickered on. Lili started, head snapping up and eyes flicking wide open. She looked around fearfully as the voice of their guide drifted down the hallway, shouting (what she supposed were) orders in Finnish. And not favorable to the trio tucked just behind the corner either, if Vash's frustrated curse was any indication, and before any words could make it out of Lili's mouth, he had grabbed her hand and was tugging her deeper into the hallway.

She didn't say a word, even as her breaths grew harsher as they not-quite-jogged, not-quite-sprinted through the confusing maze of hallways and rooms and viewing windows, though she supposed she was glad for the distraction. Concentrating on not letting her pace slip, on not stumbling as they passed sometimes unlit areas, she could ward off the thoughts of this evil facility (when had she began thinking of it in such a manner?) that she would no doubt have to come to terms with sooner or later.

The entire situation was so nauseating—so _surreal_—she thought as they ran on through the corridors, everything passing in a blur. No, she didn't really know how long they'd been moving nor where they would be going—had lost track of all the twists and turns a long time ago—only conscious of the echoing footfalls of the small group and the voices of the institution's personnel that never seemed far away enough.

_Maybe it's all a dream,_ she thought, dazed. _Maybe I'll wake up in my house and the sun will be shining and maybe I'll call Vash and the two of us can spend the day together and I'll tell him about this strange, strange dream. And then we'll both laugh, and everything will be okay._ But despite the excuses her mind thought up, she was all too aware of the dull pain in her chest and the slow burning of her legs as they pushed on, further and further inwards, towards the heart of this horrid facility.

Suddenly, she was tugged sharply to her right, Vash being pulled along with her thanks to the grip they had of each other's hands. She gasped as the stranger shoved them into a narrow hallway, then pointed to a vent not a yard off the ground and some thirty inches across. He spoke urgently, the foreign words becoming jumbled in Lili's mind though she managed to make out the crucial one; "hide."

She sent an inquiring glance in her brother's direction and read the doubt and mistrust in his eyes. Slowly, she nodded. She thought that, as things stood, they could trust this man, and they had no other choice at the moment. This was probably their best bet. At the Belorussian's urgent tug on her sleeve, she turned and crawled inside after the stranger. A brief stillness then some shuffling later, Vash had followed them, securing the opening behind them.

They crawled further into vents, darkness growing as they drew further away from the entrance. Lili shivered. She didn't like this at all. She imagined that this must be how it felt to be imprisoned inside the belly of some giant beast—she felt as if the very building were eating them up. Perhaps though, it would be better to be swallowed by the concrete structure than to be captured.

She shuddered. Ridiculous, right? Surely—surely even if they found out about the experiments, the personnel wouldn't be able to do anything other than tell the truth, right? There was no way that they would consider killing them, was there? She thought (hoped) not. Using inmates as experiments (necessary sacrifices) was completely different than killing innocent people out of self-interest—especially two nations. They couldn't afford a war. Not now, not against any of their own kind, not against the ones who still lived and breathed and bled.

The Belorussian had stopped and made a hand-motion, indicating for them to do the same; that they could rest here (at least for the moment). Lili let out a small sigh of relief and shifted, finding that she could sit all right if she bent her legs at the knees, though it was a bit more uncomfortable for her brother and the stranger, himself.

She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and now in the silence and dust of the airways, everything began to sink in and she was suddenly very aware of the dull throb emitted by her bandaged finger. She sighed, a quiet little sound so that it wouldn't travel, and let her head fall against her brother's shoulder.

_Kyrie, eleison. Christe, eleison. Kyrie, eleison. Christe, audi nos. Christe, exaudi nos._

Zombies, apocalypses, evil scientists. It sounded like a plot torn out of a book, and she felt the abrupt, insane, urge to giggle. She has lived for centuries and seen things no human could ever dream of seeing, and all of a sudden, some higher being decided to throw zombies into the mix, with no more than a "find out how to handle them yourselves." She felt angry, terrified, cheated, and a plethora of other descriptive words. She should be with her people, she should be pouring over evacuation plans in case the disease reached them, she should be _protecting_ them because they relied on her and she was their country and—and—

_Pater de caelis, Deus... miserere nobis..._

And she was stuck in the vents of some building kilometers away with some people under the guise of scientists that were arguably no better than the undead. Her small hands clenched into fists. She wanted to leave, to put all this troublesome business behind because she just didn't know what to _think_ right now. She wanted to go back to her house, she wanted be by her people and God, please protect them until she could get out of here. She refused to allow that slowly-growing cynical part of her mind to add 'if they ever got out.'

_Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, parce nobis, Domine._

She was hardly aware of her lips soundlessly forming the prayer.


	24. Not the Same

**AN: I'm actually surprised I managed to get this out. Though, a review submitted by Vanillastrawberry-chan prompted me to finally get it together and reply to my fellow RPer. As you know, from the last chapter, this fic will most likely be discontinued. But I have good news for all of you. There will be one last chapter after this, and then I will have to discontinue it. Because all role-plays do eventually end, even though they don't always get finished. And I'll be pressuring my friends, so we _might_ continue this. And I put a lot of emphasis on the "_might._"**

**But unfortunately, I have no idea when I'll be able to get the next one out. It could take a while. So don't expect it any time soon.**

**Thank you to those who have stuck with this story for so long. It warms my heart to see that you were all loving this. I'm sorry if this chapter is somewhat short, but this was really all I had left on my computer that wasn't up yet... Along with a bunch of other sections that need to be replied to.**

**Disclaimer: Hetalia does not belong to us.**

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The plane couldn't go fast enough. They were barely five minutes from the airport after a long, three hour flight, and Mei was already getting anxious. Her head ached and she was exhausted and she wanted nothing more than to wake up in her bed, the vestiges of nightmare lulled away by the warm glow of a daytime sun. Except it was night, and she was sitting in the cramped first-class cabin of a small plane, seat belt fastened across her waist to await the bump and skid that would signify their landing.

She glanced at her watch. Three minutes now; they would land at exactly 23:54, six minutes to the witching hour. Mei sighed, closing her eyes and letting her head roll back to hit the headrest. She was so tired... Today had, needless to say, been absolutely draining. She hoped Japan had done his part and prepared her with a place to stay, though she wondered if she would get much sleep that night. A mixture of paranoia and argument between her rational and child's mind would undoubtedly keep her from the merciful oblivion that would provide a few hours of escape from the thoughts that whirled in her mind, threatening to drive her insane. Oh—perhaps she wouldn't go raving mad, but there were other forms of insanity, weren't there? The Cold War had been no less than insane, and she didn't think many countries had forgotten the America after September. Though...

With her country already as paranoid (insane) as it was, Mei wondered how long her own mind would last. Even before she herself had acknowledged the (possible) existence of the disease, her airports, her ships, were all meticulously inspected in an effort to discover and prevent the virus from spreading to her land. She remembered the SARS pandemic in China, how security had been inevitably increased in an almost obsessive mind-frame. It had been terrifying to watch.

It didn't matter if she believed in the infection herself or not, her government certainly was taking every precaution available to mankind to keep the virus out of their country. It ranged everywhere from watching for suspicious behaviour to taking the temperatures of the passengers. The paranoia had reached an almost psychotic level—it was nearly tangible in the air, creating an atmosphere that could almost suffocate you... Or worse—infect you.

The plane jolted and Mei opened her eyes, the view outside the window telling her that they were now rolling along the runway. Tokyo. She was here. She'd be getting to the gate soon, and one of Japan's officials would meet her and escort her back to a hotel, because she was 'too precious to be left unprotected.' The girl scoffed lightly, triggering a glance from the middle-aged woman sitting next to her.

She didn't enjoy it, the way she was treated, she thought as she filed out of the aircraft behind the other passengers. How she was pampered and handled like a rare flower, escorted everywhere and constantly watched over (precaution or paranoia?). It made her feel incompetent, scorned somehow, and maybe that wouldn't have been so bad if disdain and pity weren't the expressions she read on some nation's faces when they looked at her, sometimes the very expression she read on Kiku's—

But now wasn't the time to think about that. Old grudges shouldn't be carried over to new problems, so Mei abruptly shoved the thought aside, staring hard at the screen in the luggage claim area instead, then walking to the designated belt to retrieve the small suitcase she had packed with no more than a day or two's worth of necessities. She hoped that would be all she needed to stay. It was her duty as family (or the closest to family nations could ever be) to be at his side, at least for as long as the pain was still fresh on his mind.

She spotted her small luggage rounding the corner on the belt, and she reached out, hefting it over the low metal rise and onto the floor beside her. She could stay no more than a few days—as much as she loved Japan, she could never leave her country in such a time of emergency. Afterwards, he would need to (and she thought him capable of) holding up on his own.

She made her way towards the exit, weaving between the bodies that still risked travel, even with the information of the "virus" being broadcasted from radios and clamoring for attention across the headlines of countless newspapers. Mei had taken the time to scan one of said papers, and was not entirely surprised to find an astounding lack of detail and disclosure in the printed words. It figured. Mass-panic would have made their jobs no less easy.

She was approaching the main entrance now, and from a distance—through the sea of people and the clean glass of the doors—she could read a sign that spelled her name in a neat kanji, though she couldn't make out the face of the person holding it. One way or another, there was no mistaking he was to be her escort. She pushed towards him, following the stream of movement from all the other travelers struggling to get out—

and finally stepped into the Tokyo night.

* * *

Japan jolted awake, finding himself to have fallen asleep at his desk. He sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, unsure of why he had been there, wondering how in the world he had managed to drift off and dream. The table was nowhere near comfy. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache. His face was dry—the tears had dried now. Kiku tried to recall what he had been doing before falling asleep, but his headache refused to let him think.

He sighed, putting his elbows on the desk and dropping his head into his hands, tangling his fingers in his usually well-kept hair. The Japanese man peered through his hands at the clock on his desk, gasping in surprise at the time. How long had he been asleep? The clock that had once read 14:00 hours now read 20:00. He had been out cold for about six hours! How could he have let himself drift off like that?

The room was dark, and Kiku stared out the window of his office, gazing up at the night sky. Oh, how beautiful the sky was right now, he thought. The raven-haired man felt like he was forgetting something though. Hadn't he talked to Taiwan earlier? That was after Thailand had called him and given him the news—

No. He didn't want to think of that. There was no way. Japan's mind just refused to accept that England and Norway could have fallen.

The petite man glanced at the paperwork on the wooden table, turning on the small lamp sitting at the corner of his desk, picking up some sheets and looking at what the reports said. They all said the exact thing he had been trying to deny, as well as some other things he would have rather not known. England, Norway, France, and Austria had fallen, and the rest of Europe was following suit, each slowly having their defenses overcome and eventually destroyed.

It was horrific; absolutely horrific.

And who was to be next on the list? Who would be next to go? Japan sucked in a breath of air, slowly exhaling, trying to calm himself. It was doing his old mind and body no good to be thinking off all this so critically. He needed to just calm down and think of this carefully—he was upsetting himself, and that would only lead to failure. And failure was unacceptable.

Kiku took his cell phone out of his pocket, surprised at all the texts, phone calls, and emails he had received during his rather long nap. He scanned through the text messages quickly—they were all just updates on the status of Europe. The emails were a number of new reports on the situations in infected countries and the ones next to them and how they were being handled. He stored away all the information in the back of his mind, planning to use it later.

He scrolled through the list of callers, eyes widening slightly. Mei had called him multiple times, it seemed. Why? The Japanese man could not quite remember. He checked his voice mail, surprised to see that the only message he had was from the Taiwanese nation. Kiku listened to the message, eyes widening more as the message went on.

"Kuso!" he cursed, standing up abruptly once the message ended. Bad idea, however, as a wave of dizziness overcame him, and he stumbled slightly, catching himself on the desk. Once he could stand up straight without falling over—a headache still pounding; he shouldn't have fallen asleep in his office and should have gone home instead when he started feeling ill—he opened the door and closed it behind him, walking down the now dim hallway.

How could he have forgotten that Mei was coming! He was so stupid! In fact, a lot of things were going wrong with him lately. Kiku's usually calm and collected composure was breaking because of this apocalypse. What was he afraid of, anyway? Was he afraid to die? The Japanese man knew the answer to that question. No, he wasn't afraid to die. If he did die, he would die with honor, fighting like a true warrior.

Was he afraid of his family and friends dying? Yes, that was in fact what Kiku was scared of most. He had already lost Arthur, one of his closer friends. He didn't want to lose anyone else. He knew there was a chance that Rama would die—the Thai nation was out on the front lines with Alfred, after all. There was the chance America would die—he was playing Hero again, and rightfully so; they needed a Hero right now. But Japan would lose one of his closest friends. Taiwan could die as well, as could China, and the rest of them.

He didn't want to lose his family.

And even though he would never admit to loving them and caring for his siblings, he really didn't want them to die. If any of them did, Kiku was unsure if he could hold himself together and fight any longer. It would be too much to bear, even for him. Losing an old friend was already hard—if a family member died, he didn't think he could live with himself.

The Japanese nation finally reached the waiting room, opening the door and stepping in, glancing around. Had Mei arrived yet? Or was she still on the way? Kiku sighed, taking a seat on one of the sofas. He head still ached, though not as much as before.

"It won't hurt to lie down for just a little…" he muttered, stretching out on the couch, getting relatively comfy. He eventually drifted into unconsciousness again, his breathing calm and even. He was unaware of the world around him, his dreams leading him elsewhere.


	25. Letter of Truth

**AN: Here is the last chapter of this story. After this, it shall be discontinued. Thank you to all who have stuck with us so long. We really appreciated the positive reviews we've gotten. We had fun doing this, and we're glad you enjoyed our RP as well. We hope you enjoy this chapter, and once again, thank you for sticking with us so long.**

**Disclaimer: We don't own Hetalia.**

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The crisp beach breeze licked at the tips of Alfred's blond bangs, shifting them side to side in a gentle air. Beside an acquainted sand feathered seashell and velvety white grains of sand he stood for what seemed to be far more extensive than the mere hours that fluttered by. Thailand flew Alfred and Raivis out to his home, much to the American's initial displeasure. A small, verbal quarrel was put up between the two countries. Alfred defended that the battle was in Europe, and that's where he would stay. Thailand simply refused to allow such actions, in which he concluded with an offer to bury Arthur's body in his own country. That jab of moral puncture was enough to seize Alfred's shallow replies and toss it out the window. Reluctant at the time, he agreed.

England to Thailand constituted of a trip just over eleven hours. The time frame was much more than sufficient, and Alfred took the time to get himself caught up in the world (as if reality hadn't already gifted him with a slap in the face). Even in the awfully appalling mood America was experiencing, he knew it wasn't an excuse to remain ignorant.

The English monarchy was tucked safely away under the United State borders. What would happen to them now that their ruling nation was gone was beyond Alfred, but he wished them the best. Northern France was devastated by the sudden Zombie invasion. Francis Bonnefoy was identified as the misshapen shreds that loitered the foot the Eifel Tower. Roderich Edelstein, or better known as representative to Austria, was found with a gaping hole in his head in a French café not too far from Francis's final moments. Both were under the suspicion of suicide.

Sweden was holding up with amazing endurance. The Zombies were cluttered just over his borderlines and progressed at increasingly slow rates. The other countries are continuing to send reinforcements. One piece of news that stunned Alfred was the incredulous sky-rocket of violence rates among the common people that did not limit itself to Infected Regions, but in relatively safe areas as well.

After the update, he prompted himself to inform his boss about his unauthorized trip to the Thai's abode. Alfred's boss was rather lenient, but asked that Thailand keep it out of spotlight. The world knew— or rather, they _thought_ United States representative Alfred F. Jones was stationed accordingly in the infestation formerly known as England. The tempers flared amongst the common people. They were prepared to rip open absolutely _any_ piece of information they could grab and rearrange the innards until it was to their liking; thus, spawning a new "conspiracy" that they hoped would satisfy their longing for a scapegoat, his boss described. The fact that Thailand was an ally to the United States wasn't enough to protect the government from the restless people. A straightforward command (in which the military head Alfred was under would specify once it was carried out) of "head back to Europe as soon as possible" ended the call.

The long awaited slumber Alfred received did anything but rest his nerves. His helicopter seat did nothing to sooth his aching joints or his spinning head. Their arrival to Phuket, Thailand, was quickly addressed with a funeral for their departed friend. A cold shudder ran through Alfred as the occupied casket was lowered into the desolate stretch of white sand beach. He attempted to keep a professional stature throughout the private occasion, but he felt his hands shake and his lips tremble.

The Union Jack hovering above Arthur's sand bed quivered in the salt sprinkled air. He tore his solemn gaze from the set and falsely settled that the view of his war worn boots were much more appealing. His eyes squinted in fear of another onslaught of tears would prevail. Not daring to make eye contact at the other two countries sharing the loss, Alfred muttered "I'm going to go take a walk." He departed quickly without waiting for acknowledgment from the others.

An incredibly vast feeling of emptiness in his chest plagued him once again. The cool breeze was not the cause of his sudden chill, nor was it the cause of his numb body. His scratched and smudged glasses were held lazily in his left hand as his right hand was constantly reaching up to rid his cloudy blue eyes of a familiar invader. Alfred circled the stretch, now lingering not too far from the Thailand and Latvia where he stood stationary staring out into the crystal waves. At one time he chuckled to himself, as proof of his crude sense of humor functioning. The smooth micro-pearls that made up the sand, the crisp sea air, the tranquil azure sea and the cloudless sky— this ideal location for paradise ironically hosted the arena for stark despair.

He sluggishly turned to determine where the small pokes of pressure on his shoulder came from. Surely enough, Thailand retreated the guilty hand now that he held Alfred's wandering mind. America blinked a few times as an attempt to regain full consciousness. "Sorry—" The sheer tepidness of Alfred's small voice surprised even him. The pregnant pause allowed him to regain a fake confidence in his words. "What is it?"

"Alfred… I have a letter for you, ana," Thailand started. "It's from Arthur."

America raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes in pure confusion. Did he hear him correctly? Were his senses still in a haze? His mouth was ajar as his brain worked out the puzzling details in order to make a proper response. However, the folded note in Thailand's hand brought him to a further state of being dumbfounded. He accepted the paper, not quite sure what else to do and what it really was. Alfred nodded a "thank you" to the low-spirited Thai. Carefully, he undid the bends of the crinkled paper.

The paper itself seemed worn with age, the writing smudged and fading slightly—most likely from whatever it had to endure up to this point. There were tear stains on the parchment, showing that the writer hadn't been able to hold back the overwhelming urge to cry and give up. The neat writing—as neat as hurried writing could be—was ultimate proof that the writer of the letter had been Arthur. The entire page was filled with words, squeezed together and written into the margins—England must have been trying to tell Alfred everything; every detail, every feeling, every weakness or strength he had discovered, the cause, his own knowledge and predictions of who would fall; everything.

From the very start of the letter, it was obvious that he was directing all the contents of the letter to Alfred.

_Alfred; America,_

_If you're reading this, then the soldier has done his job properly and I'm no longer in this world. Hopefully, you'll never have to read this, but it is inevitable, isn't it? I just hope it makes it to you. I don't know how much time I have left, or if I'll have time to finish this letter to you, but I feel I owe you—and everyone—an explanation. You all deserve one. This whole bloody mess—the living undead and all that—is entirely my fault. Norway and I had made the mistake of trying to raise the dead in the first place. I don't exclude the fact that this whole thing was my idea. There are no words to describe how badly I screwed up. If anyone deserves to die, it's definitely me; don't fool yourself with the thought that no nation should have to die due to this bloody war._

_If anything, I should be the only one dead. But that isn't the case, probably won't be. I cannot forgive myself for possibly ending the lives of everyone on the planet… And if you die, well, I hope I burn in hell—if the place exists—for what has happened._

_Whatever else I have to say is useless. But I have too much to say to you that I will never get the chance to say to you directly. For starters..._

_I don't hate you. I never did. I could never bring myself to do so. Despite all our bickering and among other things, I will never regret anything that has happened to me—never again. None of the wars, none of the alliances, none of the enemies made, none of the pain I endured—I'll never regret it._

_Second, don't blame yourself. Not all is fair in war, and you should know that. Hell, you average a major war every twenty years or so. Don't blame yourself for my death, or Norway's, or anyone else's. If they died, it means they died, and there was nothing you—or anyone—could do to prevent it. Despite popular belief—and the fact that Prussia is still with us, even though his nation isn't—nations can indeed die. We live long, yes, but we don't live forever. It pains me that France and Spain, being older than me, will live even longer than me than they already have, but I am at fault for causing this._

_I must thank you, and everyone else, for keeping my citizens safe. My royalty and my boss are safe in your country, last I heard. I'm sure the amount of civilians to die would have been much greater if other nations hadn't allowed them to evacuate and stay there. They risk so much doing that, unknowing of who is carrying the infection into their home. I know there is nothing I can do to repay you—or anyone else—for everything._

_Please, at all costs, protect Peter. I know I don't act all that caring towards him, but I don't want him to suffer the same fate I have. Tell him about what happened, protect him, and don't let him do anything rash. Make sure to let him know that I care about him._

_This paper is small, and now I have limited room to write, so I have one more thing to ask of you. I know this might just add to your already heavy burden, Alfred, but it is of the utmost important that I ask this of you. Please, don't forget me. Don't allow me to fade into history as nothing more than another lost nation in this war. Don't let _any_ of the nations who have or will die in this war to be forgotten. But I don't want _you_ to forget me, above all else. I beg you._

_And now, I'm afraid there is nothing more to write._

_Goodbye, Alfred. And, I'm sorry. I wish this weren't the end, but I'm afraid it will have to be._

_-Arthur_

* * *

The blue spheres dotting the whites of Alfred's eyes widened at the unraveling of the decrepit sheet of paper. The chalky, lead marks scribbled throughout the frame of the flimsy structure was undoubtedly that of a certain Englishman that had departed from the world a few days prior. An overwhelming sensation of raw happiness surged through the mindset of the childish American as if he envisioned, once again, the purely faux promise that a deceased friend was certainly alive. Of course, he soon realized these were only thoughts fabricated by the absolute naivety that continued to curse those who will be only greeted by inevitable disappointment. Thus, Alfred discarded his silly hopes. He breathed deeply and trudged through the contents of this long, long letter.

Alfred was dumbfounded by the shocking contents of the letter. He was struck by the very _fact_ that Arthur would attempt such a foolish act (even more surprising that Norway of all people agreed to do so alongside him). Alfred hadn't even done as to glance at the second section of the letter, yet he felt such a swell of unquenchable enmity that trembled in his hands and knees.

What were they thinking? Nothing at all, Alfred concluded. What was their motive? Alfred thought about how great it would be if Arthur were alive. Prior to the letter, Alfred would have been happy to reunite with his close friend in euphoria. Now his only wish was to inflict his brutally unique form of justice onto Arthur, to scream and reprimand him, to wallow in the bitterly sweet irony of Alfred's would-be psychologically mandated dominance over Arthur…

Naturally, Alfred was too hasty in his judgments. Arthur undoubtedly felt an extreme amount of grief for his actions. Arthur had admitted to his crimes and agreed to his punishment. The portrayal of emotion was understandable, despite the collision of unruly and gnarled letters. Alfred had calmed himself. This sharp opposition of Arthur's claims took its toll; Alfred was unsure of how to react—how to feel. To this, Alfred simply scowled. His eyes adverted for only a moment before returning. His fingers twitched.

One line, however, caught Alfred off guard: "I don't hate you."

He had a double take upon the sentence that promptly followed.

…

How could he say that he never hated him?

Alfred remembered when he hated Arthur. It reached its most passionate levels during his most rebellious stages against England. He felt so much enjoyment plotting evil against the guardian he loved so dearly. In his insurgence of hatred three centuries ago, he felt it was just to kill Arthur. Now Alfred knew this was nothing more but a fleeting burst of raw and unstable actions, and since then he learned to become more responsible and controlling. Though this doesn't change the fact that he undeniably felt a grossly repugnance for the Englishman at one point. If the feeling wasn't mutual, then just what the hell was he thinking back then? Arthur hated him. Alfred saw it once and only once; Arthur charged at him with a frightening animalistic snarl and horribly glowing eyes. Needless to say, Arthur easily disarmed the petrified Revolutionary.

And yet—

Alfred would obnoxiously claim that no one could ever bring themselves to hate him, though the level of sincerity behind those statements were frail (if it weren't blatantly obvious enough). Perhaps it was simply a sympathetic lie to keep his confidence balanced, something that was vital if he were to survive the influx of Zombies. It was just a white lie. It was just like those times back during his colony days, when Arthur happily accepted the grotesque mud pie that an overjoyed Alfred made one lazy summer afternoon. It was just like when Arthur commented on how dashing Alfred looked in that starchy and uncomfortable tuxedo. It was just like when Arthur laughed and said how great Alfred would be as a big strong hero when Alfred had told his elder of his hopes and dreams.

It was something Arthur would do when Alfred when he was a little kid.

Who the hell do you think you are?

Who do you think I am? is what Alfred would have said.

Am I still a fucking little kid to you, huh? I don't need your stupid lies.

I don't need your pity.

You're already getting' yours, so shut your mouth.

You're the same as always.

If you really, truly needed to say something from the heart, why don't you just say it? Stop bullshitting me.

Well it doesn't even fucking matter anymore. You're dead.

His blood was boiling. He remained in his silent rage; nothing was heard but the screech of the grinding of his teeth, a mysteriously ear-piercing whistle that irritated his mind, and a familiar, sympathetic voice who spoke to him with a wispy voice and a sad smile.

He dismissed Arthur's trivial resolve, his repetitive lecture, his pitiful apologies and his half-hearted thank you's. Alfred kept track of the facts and requests—nothing more; 1) Arthur and Norway were the cause, 2) Arthur wanted it to be sure that his and the other casualties' deaths would not stand in vain, and 3) Arthur requested that he find Peter and keep him out of harm's way. Despite Alfred's unstable mental state, he could not deny a man's dying request. Even if it were the last thing he would do, he would make sure to find Peter and bring him into the bounds of safety.

Alfred tucked the sloppily folded paper into his dusty jacket with unusual tenderness. He aggressively pushed past his Thai and Latvian partners, making it clear that he would rather not answer their confused and concerned glances.

If there were one thing Alfred was most certain of—and perhaps the only thing he absolutely knew; he would never forget his former guardian, his most personally irritating companion, his closest ally, his closest friend…


End file.
